


All You Need Is Love and a Cat

by heymacareyna



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grad School AU, adrien is literally a cat, ladybug and chat noir are fictional au, pure fluff, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heymacareyna/pseuds/heymacareyna
Summary: In a world where shapeshifting is real and Ladybug and Chat Noir are nothing more than a kids' animated show, Adrien and Marinette part ways after high school. Adrien develops the ability to shift into a domestic black cat, and when he's stranded in the rain one morning, a familiar face rescues him. After spending the day with her as a cat, he decides to befriend her in his human form as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I couldn't give two craps about French, so all my stand-in names are absolutely ridiculous and you're going to have to deal.

Shivering and miserable, Adrien shrank closer against the stairs, tail wrapped tight around him for fear of catching a stray raindrop. Two black ears flattened against his head as he glared into the grey-tinted world around him. Almost an hour ago he had shifted into his black cat form and crawled out his bedroom window for a morning run, but the storm had come out of nowhere. Soaked him through before he’d darted here, to relative safety. But now he had nowhere else to go. He despised the rain enough as a guy, much more so as a cat. He wasn’t going out in that.

He could wait out the rain. Probably.

But the sky was charcoal in every direction. A roll of thunder rumbled deep in his ribcage, making him curl even more tightly into himself as he shook. His tense, stiff muscles were starting to ache, but he didn’t relax. Didn’t dare.

No one would come to save the little black cat huddled outside the bank. Even Nino wouldn’t know to come looking for him: he’d been asleep when Adrien left, and besides, even if he _had_ known to search him out, he would be looking for a human.

Adrien’s shapeshifting, while portended by the lifelong feline behavior he’d never been able to shake, had only emerged in reality during his undergrad years. His doctor had suggested it had been initiated by the stress of finally breaking from his father, had said it was nothing to be ashamed of.

Adrien wasn’t ashamed… just careful. Shapeshifters were rare, and although no legal discrimination existed, many non-shifters feared the Otherness. He had spent his entire childhood being held at a distance because he was a model; he wouldn’t put himself through that alienation again. So no one besides that doctor knew, not even Nino—Adrien had told his housemate that he let the local stray hang out in his room sometimes. A lie, but better than the alternative.

 _What time is it?_ he wondered. He’d left around six, and he couldn’t see the sun to judge how high it had risen since then. It felt as if he had been clinging to this staircase for hours. He let out a desolate meow, the sound swallowed by the torrential downpour.

An unexpected flash of lightning startled him into a scramble. Rain blew into his face until he jumped up to the next step and scrunched against it, tail lashing briefly until he tucked it into his trembling body. Another pitiful mew spilled from his throat.

The heavy vibration of the following thunder faded out into an odd splashy-squelchy pattern. _Shploosh, shlick. Shploosh, shlick._ Despite himself, his ears pricked in curiosity. Was something coming? Or some _one?_

The pattern continued, growing louder as it neared him. He shuffled his hunched body just enough to slit his gaze up and down the street. Finally through the grey he saw her—a figure draped in red, happily stomping her polka-dotted rainboots into every muddy puddle gathered in the sidewalk. Something about the gait seemed distantly familiar, like a dream he’d forgotten, but he couldn’t place it.

Hoping for a little luck, he let out his most plaintive cry. She stumbled to a halt: her head cocked, and she looked around for the source of the noise. He mewled again, louder this time, and her attention zeroed in on the bank steps. She started carefully forward, ignoring the puddles she passed by.

The end of his tail flicked, this time with interest rather than irritation. Would she stop to pet him? A little bit of sympathy, if only for a moment, would be better than wasting away out here alone.

She approached the steps in triple slow motion, likely wary of scaring him into fleeing. He wasn’t going anywhere, though, not in this weather, so he watched her without blinking, his ears perking forward and spine relaxing at the kindness in her eyes. Again, she reminded him of someone. Who was it?

Her lips parted in a distraught “o” when she saw how his fur had clumped with rain. “Oh, _chaton.”_ Sympathy in her voice, she extended one hand, her fingers unfurling from her palm like a flower in bloom. He sniffed at her, and she waited.

She smelled good in a way that intrigued the cat—chlorophyll and sugar and cotton, an odd mix that somehow worked. Finally Adrien bumped his forehead into her first knuckle. Delighted with the acceptance, she stroked through his drenched black fur, and he arched into the touch. When her second hand came around to scratch behind his ears at the same time, he began to rumble with a shaky purr. _Why couldn’t you have shown up an hour ago?_

“ _Pauvre chaton._ Are you all alone out here?” She looked around and seemed to come up empty. Her gaze went to his neck next, but of course he wore no collar.  Indecision flickered over her expression. “It’s too wet for you to be out here.”

Suddenly hopeful, he gave her his best Poor Sad Lonely Kitty eyes. Her pained intake of breath told him everything he needed to know… so he sealed the deal with a faint, miserable little mewl.

“Nooo.” She hung her head. “Ahhhhh. I’m such a sucker.”

True. But over the last five years, he’d found few people with the willpower to withstand that particular power combo. She ran through her guilt trip for a few minutes, and he waited graciously. Besides maybe bumping at her hands a few times when she forgot to keep petting him.

“Okay,” she sighed finally. Pointing one finger right at him, she declared, “Just for now, okay? I’m bringing you back when the storm passes.”

 _Whatever you say._ He rubbed his cheek against her nail. _Just pick me up and keep petting me._

She obliged as if she’d heard him. Tucking one slim hand under his hind legs, she tucked the other under his front legs and scooped little black Adrien up into her arms. Then everything turned red and warm—she’d snuggled him close against her chest underneath her raincoat. He had to be soaking her shirt, but he appreciated the personal furnace too much to protest. Instead he sank into relieved relaxation, purring loudly enough that he heard her give a light laugh.

“Poor baby just wanted some love, huh?”

He lightly butted his forehead against her breastbone. _As if there had ever been any doubt._

Petting him through the stiff fabric, she continued down the sidewalk, still splashing in the puddles but now careful that her tiny stowaway didn’t feel the water. He lost track of how far they walked before she opened a door that with a tinny jingle enveloped him in fifty scents at once, all sugar and flour and spice. A bakery. He knew the one—Mais Oui, the best one within 15 miles of campus. He loaded up on their domino cookies every two weeks.

“Good morning, Mrs. Croissant,” his rescuer called, the words a vibration in her chest as if she were purring too. She closed the raincoat a little tighter, presumably to hide him or discourage him from trying to jump down, but Adrien only shifted closer to her. He wasn’t stupid (not that she knew that). He was planning to stay still and quiet until she had finished her shopping: if the bakery staff caught him, he’d be back out in the rain.

“Good morning, _ma mie!_ Give me just a moment.” The muffled reply sounded like it came from behind furniture, or _beneath_ it. He tried not to let his ears prick in curiosity, but he wanted to know what the employee was doing under there. _Don’t move, Adrien. Don’t move, Adrien,_ he chanted. No curiosity was worth that thunderstorm. While his lady and the bakery woman made small talk, he distracted himself by trying to name all the pastries tinting the air.

A paper bag rustled nearby, and then drew near, enticing with the wafts of croissant and donut. Only fierce self-control kept him from struggling free to bat at the crinkly material. “Thank you,” his lady chirped, a smile in her voice. “See you tomorrow morning, Mrs. Croissant. Have a great day!”

“You too, Miss Marinette!”

His lady turned and bounced out the door back into the rain, but Adrien had frozen in realization. _Marinette._

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

That was who he’d been reminded of: the cute girl who had sat behind him in class during his first year in public school. They’d skirted around each other but never became very close – Adrien was too shy and busy to initiate, and Marinette seemed nervous, and then her design work began to consume more and more of her time. She’d seemed interesting, but it just never happened, and they’d parted ways at graduation as warm acquaintances. By the time their respective best friends started dating in college, the physical and emotional distance prevented anything from forming. He hadn’t even known Marinette _lived_ around here.

She reached in to stroke his drying fur, and she seemed to notice the new stiffness in the arch of his back. “You okay in there, _petit chat?”_ she tried to soothe him. “It’s just a little bit longer and we’ll be safe and dry in the apartment.”

Oh no. This just made his anxiety ratchet upwards. It wasn’t the storm stressing him out. He was going home with Marinette.

Not that he didn’t like Marinette fine. But all of a sudden, it wasn’t just some Good Samaritan housing him, it was a girl (a woman now, really) he sort of knew, and he was going to be in her _home_ , and she wouldn’t even realize it. Was that like lying? Or trespassing?

No, it was fine. She was taking him herself. And she probably had work or classes during the day anyway. He could hide under the bed or behind a couch all day, not looking around, and that would negate the fact that he was actually a person. Right?

Even her scratching behind his ears couldn’t fully dispel his worry. When they arrived at the apartment and she set him down, he scrambled for a hiding place so he wouldn’t feel as if he was creeping on her living space. She’d put him down in her room, so he fled under the bed and huddled in the corner, far out of view of anything personal.

She made a sad, sympathetic noise in her throat and left. Adrien huffed a little, unsure whether or not he was glad she hadn’t tried to fish him out into the open, and tried to ignore the tantalizing scents and sounds of her room. He couldn’t invade her privacy.

When Marinette returned a few minutes later, she brought with her the one smell that might actually tempt him out of his self-imposed exile: tuna. She set a plastic bowl down at the edge of the bedframe, and he felt his pupils dilate with hungry interest.

“Sorry I don’t have any actual cat food for you,” she said, “but I figure this probably works too.”

It definitely worked. His willpower crumbled under such bait. He struggled with himself for a moment before slinking forward and stretching his head out to nibble. Gently she scratched the top of his head; he startled but didn’t dart out of view.

“I have one class before lunch,” she told him, still petting absently, “and then I’ll come back here to work. It’ll only be an hour or…” Here she trailed off, and when he glanced up, her eyes had narrowed. “That’s a long time,” she muttered. “I need a litter box.”

He half wondered if he could feasibly shift while she was gone and make a nude run for the bathroom. Probably, assuming no one else was here then. Of course, she had no idea that was even an option, so she disappeared again, and when she returned, she set down a shallow plastic box filled with shredded paper. She straightened to look over these accommodations and then decided, “It’ll work.”

Adrien lapped up the last of the tuna and, following the instincts of the cat, crawled out from under the bed and headbutted Marinette lightly for more attention. Smiling, she sat down to run her fingers all the way down his body, eliciting that car-engine purr he couldn’t turn off. “What were you doing out there, anyway?” she asked him. “Poor little thing all by yourself in the storm. Nobody likes that.”

Maybe not, but it might have been worth it for this moment. He arched into her touch and let his eyes lower to half-mast. It had been so long since he’d been petted… since he’d let anyone close enough to pet him, in either form. He hadn’t realized how badly that distance ached until he let her close it. With one nail she scratched that itchy place between his shoulder blades, and he could have died in bliss.

 _“Pauvre chaton,”_ she sighed again.

When she left, she closed the door behind her, but she took a little of the room’s warmth with her.


	2. Chapter 2

Hanging her dry raincoat by the front door, Marinette called, “Alya? Are you here?” and then waited. No response—plus she couldn’t smell coffee. Her roommate must have taken her project to Starbucks. Marinette cracked her bedroom door to make sure the visiting _chat noir_ wasn’t ready to run, and then let herself in. He was balanced precariously with one paw on her desk, one on the windowsill, and two against the wall, sniffing at her calendula. She laughed; and he pricked up, looked toward her, and meowed. For a moment she thought he might push the flowerpot off the sill, but then he leapt over it and came to rub against her calves.

She couldn’t decide whether his need for attention meant he was accustomed to a lot or to none at all. Where had he come from? He had to be at least a year old—he was clearly an adult, but not old enough for the middle-aged paunch. Slim, but not starving. And his coat was far too sleek and bright for him to be a stray, yet he wore no collar.

Since the rain had given way to sunshine an hour ago, she knew she ought to put him back where she’d found him. His owner, if he had one, was probably looking for him. But he seemed so lonely…

“Do you want to stay here this afternoon?” she asked. Of course he couldn’t understand, but she could have sworn he looked _right at her_ and purred, as if to say yes. She pressed her lips together. “Hmm. Maybe just until dinner.” _You’re such a sucker,_ she scolded herself, but she seemed to breathe easier with her little friend around. So she sat on the floor to sketch out some ideas for her latest commission, petting him absently with her free hand when he snuggled close against her side.

But when artist’s block crept up, she found herself staring at a blank sheet of paper, physically unable to touch the pencil down. “Come on, Marinette,” she coached herself, brow furrowing. “You’re a professional. Sort of. You can do it.”

Pencil and paper, however, felt otherwise.

She had a week to get this done, which was more than some commissions got, so she wanted to get a head start. Apparently that was not to be.

Since she’d never been subtle, even Chat Noir (she didn’t exactly have a nametag to work with) picked up on her frustration. A few headbutts and nuzzles persuaded her to take a break for belly rubs. For a few minutes she petted and sweet-talked him, letting her mind empty out for a fresh start. Then when she calmed and he playfully batted her hand away, she leaned back and started again. This time she didn’t go it alone. He made a welcoming ear as she talked herself through the pre-work, through her parameters, through her to-do list. A few times he even meowed in response to questions she hadn’t expected answers to.

Her lead streaked and shaded the paper in grazing strokes. Never too solid or committed—light enough to frame one idea while forming another. Sheets of paper fluttered in the air as she brushed them back to start on the next, and Chat Noir alternated between batting at them and watching her sketch. The movements of the pencil fascinated him, based on the way his pupils dilated and his ears pricked forward, but he also seemed interested in the designs themselves. He cocked his head and stared, not unlike her fellow classmates during workshops.

At some point in this artistic limbo, the front door opened, the sound muffled through the walls, and Alya called, “Girl, you here?”

Raising her head, Marinette realized the light streaming through her windows had grown warm with orange and pink. “Hi!” she called back, rolling onto her side and pushing herself to her feet. She needed to take the cat back to the bank. He watched her without blinking, and she couldn’t help but sigh. She knew full well she didn’t have time to keep a pet…yet he’d been good company, and she’d bonded more with him than she’d thought she would.

She summoned her willpower and scooped him up into her arms. “Come on, Chat. Time for you to go home.” Hopping on one foot, she used her toes to open her door.

Alya, who had come into the living room, zeroed in on the black loaf nestled against her. “Is that a _cat?_ Do we have a cat now?”

“Not really. I just borrowed him.” Marinette hefted him a little higher so he could sit more comfortably. He had stilled when her roommate came into view; she stroked his side, and he relaxed a little. “I actually have to go drop him off again now. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Are you hungry for dinner?”

“You know it.”

She grinned. “Same.”

Alya made finger guns. “I’ll get the pasta started.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Go free the cat.”

So Marinette made her way down to her car, buckled herself into the driver’s seat, and petted Chat Noir until he nestled down in her lap. Yes, she could walk to the bank, but with the sun as low as it was, she didn’t want to wander around alone. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove slowly to the main street bisecting the downtown area. She maneuvered into a spot along the curb before getting out, cradling her Chat.

“Time for you to go,” she whispered, burying her face in his sleek inky fur. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?” Carefully she set him down on the sidewalk, and after one last lingering look he disappeared into the bushes.

She let herself huff again, hugged herself. _I don’t have time for a cat._

So why did she want so badly to keep him?

♥

            The next morning’s open skies lifted Marinette’s heart in her chest, and she all but fell out the door in her haste. Despite her love for sleeping in, her seven o’clock bakery run made her feel like she was back in Paris with her parents, if only for a little while. The Croissants’ baked goods weren’t as good as the Dupain-Chengs’, of course (although granted, Marinette might be a little biased), but just stepping through the front door felt like home. And now she had a second reason to hold to her morning ritual: every day she passed the bank, and if Chat Noir lived nearby, she might get to snuggle him for a minute.

She strolled with utmost laziness when she neared the bank, craning her neck in every direction to make sure she didn’t miss him, but no cat appeared from the shrubs or on the stairs. Eventually she had to continue on, disappointed although she couldn’t put a finger on why. He was a _cat_. Obviously he was going to roam around rather than show up on the bank steps at precisely 7:08 every morning.

She nudged the bakery door open with her shoulder and glanced around for Mrs. Croissant, her usual greeter. But the head of flyaway grey hair was nowhere to be seen. Then she heard the older woman’s voice from behind a row of muffins.

“This danish is good. One of my favorites, I’d say.”

“Thank you,” said the customer she was tending to, a man with a quiet, smiling voice.

Turning aside so as not to bother them, Marinette looked over today’s display cases. Everything looked neat and professional, yet individualized. The Croissants didn’t mass-produce their goods; they took pride in them. Maybe she could pick up some hours helping out…

 ** _No,_** she told herself. _You have no time for that. You already have full-time school **and** commissions. If you can’t have a cat, you **definitely** can’t have a second job._

Fists clenched in determination not to over-commit herself (again), she strode up to the counter to wait. She only needed her usual; better not to browse, or she would impulse-buy half the stock. Sweets were still her weakness, even after all these years. Her mom liked to tease that she’d need to hire her own personal dentist once she became a rich and famous designer.

She heard Mrs. Croissant and her customer coming back up to the front, but she only glanced toward them, more out of self-preservation habit than anything else. But her gaze caught on the young man, and her eyes widened and lips parted in stunned recognition.

That—that was— _Adrien Agreste?_ In _her_ bakery?


	3. Chapter 3

He met her gaze and treated her to a small, warm smile that made a flush crawl up her cheeks, sending her flying back to her high school self. _Chill!_ she commanded herself. **_Chill!_** _You’re not fifteen anymore!_

“Hey,” she managed with a smile and a finger-wave. “What are you…Do you live near here?” She hadn’t seen him face to face since they graduated from high school. Her infatuation had faded, though of course she still found him stunning, so she hadn’t kept up on where he was and what he was doing. And she had been fine with that—her schedule already spilled over capacity anyway.

But now that he was here, right in front of her, and looking at her with something absurdly close to _fondness_ in his eyes…

“No, I’m on the other side of the city,” he said, turning briefly to pay Mrs. Croissant before returning his attention to Marinette. “But this place has the best domino cookies, and…” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, a blush touching his cheekbones, although she couldn’t think why. “Um, I guess I just felt like trying their pastries this morning.”

Surreal. She almost wanted to run her fingers through his hair, just to prove to herself that she wasn’t having some weird flashback hallucination. _No, Marinette, that’s creepy._ She fisted her hands at her sides. Blankly she paid Mrs. Croissant as well and accepted the bag with her two purchases. She edged toward the door, not taking her eyes off Adrien, and he followed. They left together. _Breathe in. Breathe out._

“Are you in school, or working, or what?” she asked.

“I’m actually at Baguette School for Art and Design.” He pointed over her shoulder, in the general direction of campus.

“That’s where I’m going!” she blurted. “For fashion design. How come I haven’t seen you?” She would have noticed for sure if their paths had crossed.

“I’m a double major, architecture and cross-cultural design,” he explained. “But I’m focusing on architecture right now—I’ve been in the design building maybe once. And I live pretty far from campus.”

“Oh. Yeah, me too.” Plus, she had so much going on, she didn’t really loiter. “Do you still model?” She wished that she knew him better, that she could do better than small talk. But she had years of blank space and nothing to go on but fuzzy teenage memories.

He gave her that smile again. “Not so much anymore. I stopped working for my dad. Sometimes I help out art or fashion students who need a live model, but other than that, it’s a rare side thing for a little extra spending money.” He pulled off a bite of Danish and popped it into his mouth before he said, “Fashion design—that fits you.”

She flushed with a brief burst of self-conscious adrenaline. “Wow, you remember that?”

Inexplicably he flushed a little bit again and looked away. “Just a… good memory.”

Holy mother of France, he _remembered her? That distinctly?_ Internal screaming. She tried to maintain a casual expression. “Cool. Thanks. Yeah, I love it. I’m mostly trying to build my professional reputation right now, so lots of commissions. Keeps me busy.”

“That’s awesome. Good for you.” Genuine warmth colored the words.

Trying to come up with a topic other than the weather, Marinette shoved half a donut into her mouth. It bought her a good minute.

Adrien, too, seemed at a loss. His brow crinkled a little, as if he was disappointed, though she couldn’t have said why. What kind of expectations could he possibly have for an early-morning chance conversation?

♥

How had he messed this up? Adrien had just wanted to see her, person to person. Maybe try to make plans to hang out as two humans. But they were just standing here making awkward small talk, and he couldn’t bring it up without it seeming weird.

She had liked him as a cat. _Maybe_ , he realized with aching regret, _actual conversation is out of my league._

He took a step back and averted his gaze. “I’d better get going,” he managed. “I’ll see you around?”

“Mm-hmm!” She swallowed her giant bite of donut before continuing. “It was good to see you.”

He tried not to wear his hurt. “You too.” After a moment of hesitation, he made himself turn around, slip onto his bike, and pedal away without looking back.

_I won’t be trying that again anytime soon._

Through his classes and meals for the rest of the day, he drew into himself, painfully conscious of the invisible walls that seemed to separate him from the people around him. He appreciated that he no longer had to deal with being put on a pedestal for being a model, but was this better—skimming on the fringes of affection without ever committing or being committed to? It took too long for him to open up, and by the time he got around to it, most people had lost interest in trying to befriend him.

And when he tried to speed up the process, he mangled it.

So his touch hunger corroded him from the inside out, and as far as he could see, he could do nothing about it.

Nino was gone by the time Adrien got home at seven, off working one of his jobs or possibly hanging out with other friends beforehand. Their schedules rarely intersected anymore, with Nino now borderline nocturnal. The house seemed to loom around Adrien as he poked at his microwave meal with a fork. So silent. So distant. He went to bed hours later with the weight of that silence suffocating him.

He didn’t go to the Mais Oui bakery the next morning; he couldn’t put himself through the friendship failure again. Alone he struggled through his morning classes, and he survived. Barely. His skin was sandpaper, his limbs too long. A fist-sized stone lived in his ribcage. By lunchtime, he needed to shed it all.

He stowed his backpack and a spare set of clothes in a hedge, and then he ducked down to shift. His skin rippled; his organs trembled and spasmed. He took a deep breath just before his throat closed up. His clothing dissolved with his human body until only the core of his personality remained. Then, in a spiral, matter swirled back into place from that center outward. He landed on four padded paws, tail lashing to shake off the last sizzles of the shift.

An eternity, condensed into half a second.

He told himself he just wanted to roam a little, with no worries and no expectations. And he tried to stick to that; he did. Until he found himself staring at the back door of the design building.

 _I’m not looking for Marinette,_ he reasoned without tearing his eyes away. _She’s probably not even here. I don’t know her schedule._

“Aww,” gasped someone behind him. He turned and saw a fashion grad student he’d modeled for once. Her long hair had been lollipop-pink then; now it was white-blonde and snipped down to a pixie cut. She crouched down and offered her hand to him. “Hey, little buddy. Haven’t seen you here before.”

Tentatively he sniffed her fingers and then nudged them with his nose. She rubbed him on the forehead and the curve of his spine, which was all well and good, but when she ruffled up his fur, he squirmed out of reach. She laughed a little before passing by and letting herself inside. Recognizing his opportunity, he bolted in right behind her.

She looked down and, when she saw him padding at her heels, her dark eyebrows shot upward. “Well, hello there, sneaky!” She sounded somewhere between pleased that he’d followed her and offended that he’d used her to get inside. “You better hope no one sees you. I’m pretty sure there’s a no-pets policy.”

He chirped in nonchalant reply.

The student, whose name he couldn’t remember, continued up a flight of stairs, but not before scooping Adrien up and cuddling him tight so he wouldn’t have to struggle through the trip on his own. He appreciated the gesture, but as soon as they reached the top, he wriggled to be put down. She only held him tighter. Ears flattening, he narrowed his eyes and squirmed backward, out of her arms and toward the floor. Finally she dropped him, and he darted through the workroom door she had opened.

The room whirred with sewing machines and billowing fabrics. For a moment he froze, heightened senses overwhelmed by the busyness of it all. But once he got his bearings, he slunk along the wall, searching for a familiar face.

There.

Scrutinizing a bare mannequin as if it held the secret to eternal youth or avoiding taxes.

Marinette had pulled her hair up to work, a single sleek wave of a ponytail rather than the two pigtails she’d worn as a teenager. A few strands had fallen out and now swayed in the air to frame her face. She clenched a pencil between her teeth and narrowed her eyes contemplatively with her hands fisted on her hips.

Brightening at the sight of her in all her designing glory, he padded over to wind between her calves with a winning mewl. She jumped at the unexpected touch—then looked down to gasp with an open smile. “Chat!” she whispered despite her delight. “You can’t be here!”

He headbutted her leg, smug and satisfied with his own resourcefulness in finding her. _Pet me._

Obliging with the silent plea, she squatted down and stroked him just the way he liked. All the way down his body, all in the same direction. The ache in his chest dissolved, and a purr rumbled deep inside him.

“What am I going to do with you?” The words bloomed with fondness. “I can’t believe you…”

He nuzzled into her hand, utterly content.

She glanced around at the others in the workroom, checking to make sure no one had noticed her uninvited guest. Then, to his surprise, she pulled on a sweatshirt. It wasn’t _that_ cold.

“In here,” she whispered, holding the big front pocket open. “They won’t see you. It’s the only way.”

Adrien stared at the pocket, then at her, then at the pocket again for good measure. She wouldn’t be able to pet him if he was in there, which was reason enough for him to decline. But it would be soft and warm and close to her. And he definitely didn’t want to be caught and kicked out. So, with careful poise, he nosed into the sweatshirt pocket, turned until his whole body was inside, and then nestled against her abdomen. He could feel his weight pulling the sweatshirt down, but she didn’t seem to mind. She petted him through the fabric and resumed her analysis of the mannequin. He rubbed his cheek against her and purred more loudly so she could feel it.

“I can’t even with you,” Marinette half-laughed, petting him again. Yet the complaint was playful, her touch a comfort.

This, here, curled up in this tiny sling against a warm, friendly body… This soothed and quieted Adrien’s mind until he dozed off into a peaceful nap.


	4. Chapter 4

The reminder of how it felt to be around Marinette eroded his decision not to approach her in human form again. _Everyone has that awkward first conversation_ , he told himself. _We got it out of the way, and now we can move on._

He didn’t know enough about her to form a solid plan. They both lived off campus, so he couldn’t count on the cafeteria as a place she’d frequent. Design building for sure. Maybe the campus café? Not the bakery again, though. He wanted to try a different setting, a different time—maybe that would avoid a repeat performance.

So he loitered.

The first day or two, he came up empty. Day three, though, he was sucking down a coffee while working on some structural concepts in a corner of the student center… and red flashed in his peripheral vision. His head jerked up, and his pupils dilated wider than any non-shifter’s would have, all so he could maximize the sight of Marinette strolling through the double doors. She beamed and greeted several people on her way in, clearly still as well liked as she had been as a teenager. Her circle skirt swished and fluttered around her each time she turned to say hi to another friend.

Adrien exhaled, slow and deep. “You can do it,” he muttered, setting his coffee aside and wiggling his fingers in preparation. “All right. Let’s go.”

She was coming his way. She was almost there. He straightened, raised one hand, and smiled at her. Mentally he prepared for the worst—for her to glance his way and then pretend not to have seen him. _Please just wave back. That’s all I want_.

When she met his gaze, his pulse leapt in his throat…because not only did she wave back, she beamed and _altered course to come say hi_. He sucked in a surprised breath. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead.

“Hey, how are you?” she asked as she approached, voice as bright as her smile.

“Um, good!” He gestured at the book beside him. “Getting a little work done before my one o’clock. Where are you headed?”

“My second home,” she joked.

The design building. “Want someone to walk with?” The offer fell from his tongue before he could think too hard about it. He didn’t take it back, though.

Her eyebrows jumped, but her smile didn’t falter. “Sure!” she said after a beat. “You have time?”

“Yeah, it’s not that far from where I’ll be going, anyway.” He hurriedly shuffled all his books and papers together and slung his bag over his shoulder. “So how’s your day going?” He opened the door for her, and she passed under his arm.

“Not too bad.  Just busy like usual.” She sounded blasé about that, but purple-grey shadowed her eyes. Was she getting enough sleep? Maybe he could coax her into a nap during his next visit as Chat Noir. “How about you?”

“Same—really busy.” Part of that was because of his visiting-Marinette-as-a-cat time blocks. “At least I’m almost done with classes for the week. Then I can spend my weekend doing homework. I’m a real party animal.” A pun, not that she could appreciate it.

She laughed at his dry joke, though, which perked him up. And gave him the strength to push forward, even as they approached the design building.

“Hey,” he suggested, trying to ignore the flush in his face, “if you wanted to, uh, do homework together or something…that could maybe be fun.”

She cocked her head at him, but she didn’t immediately shoot down the idea. She only watched him, considering. Evaluating. “We don’t have any classes together,” she pointed out with a tiny smile.

He shrugged. “Yeah, but a second set of eyes is always useful, right? And we could help keep each other on track. I mean, for me, I usually study alone, and then I end up looking up the wing development of adolescent dragonflies. No self-control.”

This made her laugh again, and warmth curled in his chest. Maybe he could manage conversation after all. “I get that. Wikipedia is my best friend and my worst enemy.” She adjusted her backpack straps and gave him a sideways glance that made his throat close up with hope. “Sure, yeah, that’d be fun.” But then she noticed the time, and for a moment her whole body seemed to flutter. “Oh, I gotta go! I’m gonna be late! I’ll see you later, okay?” She tripped running up the steps, righting herself just in time to open the door and throw herself inside.

Adrien lifted a hand in a wave, and then realized they hadn’t exchanged numbers. He sighed. Well, he’d gotten one step closer. She’d agreed to spend time with him. _And_ he’d survived a second conversation. Even though he would be traveling soon, it at least left him somewhere to pick back up when he returned.

All in all, not too bad for his human form. Not too bad.

♥

Chat Noir was still making regular appearances in Marinette’s life, much to her delight. Alya didn’t comment on the cans of cat food stacked on top of the fridge before she left for a week-long Paris trip. Though sneaking the cat into the design building worried Marinette for his sake, she still did it every so often. More frequently he showed up outside when she had finished for the day, and she took him home for evening snuggles.

So when she headed out one day and didn’t see him, she was disappointed but not worried. It happened again the next day, and the next, with each passing evening clenching a little tighter around her heart. He hadn’t been hurt, had he? Or caught by animal control? Without a collar, he could be sent to the pound or worse.

On top of this simmering anxiety, she started another work in progress (her fourth project of the week) and received feedback from her instructor— _I’ve seen better from you. Reevaluate your design priorities and begin again._ Vague and useless and totally disheartening. Reevaluate her design priorities? Did the professor think it wasn’t original enough? Too original? She asked for clarification, and all the prof gave her was “This design feels like you don’t know where you want to go.”

Right then, she wanted to go home and cry.

And as if the universe wanted to make sure her day couldn’t possibly get any worse, a fellow student pulled her aside in the workroom to whisper that she’d stained her favorite dress. Her period had started—two days early, when normally it was precisely on time. The classmate gave her a tampon, but the damage was done, and the hand-woven fabric was such a light pink that she might have permanently ruined it.

Tying her sweatshirt around her waist to hide her newest failure as a human being, she pushed her work mess into a corner and fled down the steps and out the back door. No Chat Noir, of course—the universe wouldn’t allow her that comfort. She hopped onto her bike and pedaled as fast as she could, ignoring the drops of rain that flecked her arms faster the farther she went.

The flecks became a sheen, the rain gusting at her from the side. Her stained dress soaked through to her underwear. She began to sob as she rode, the tears stinging her eyes and blurring her vision, so she wasn’t prepared to react when her tires slipped in a puddle. The bike skidded sideways underneath her and collapsed with a clatter. Shock choking her, she found herself thrown onto the sidewalk, scraping her knees on the concrete before she tumbled onto the muddy grass. She lay there for a moment to hold her breath and try to suppress the crying. She didn’t have to look to know her dress now featured mud and grass stains and would definitely have to go in the garbage.

Her tight chest shuddered, her breath too shallow. Her lips trembled with cold and stress. Rain continued to streak her skin, though her clothes already weighed heavy with water.

An ungodly noise broke from Marinette’s throat.

Then she was sobbing again, the sounds ugly and raw. Her hands came up to cover her face, and her whole body shook. _I don’t have the support system to handle this right now._ With Alya gone, and Chat Noir potentially hit by a car or waiting to be put down in the pound, the overwork that usually just nipped at her heels had finally tackled her to the ground. Alone and undone, she let the sorrow rip out of her.

“Mar…Marinette?” The soft, worried voice came from the direction of the sidewalk. Oh no. No no no. She knew that voice. Of all people to see her break down, it had to be him. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t lower her hands, as if that would make her audience disappear. “I’m fine.”

A few footsteps, and she felt Adrien crouch down beside her. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“No, I just…” Her voice cracked, and she choked on a fresh wave of tears. She pressed down harder with her hands to muffle the pathetic sounds.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” She felt a tender hand brush her forehead. “Here, come on. Let me help you up.”

She would rather have lain here and melted into the ground. But he tucked his fingers under her shoulders to encourage her to sit up. When she didn’t, he withdrew, only to scoop her entire body up into his arms. This surprised her into opening her eyes. Sympathy and hurt shadowed his gaze, as if he had found his best friend sobbing in a sodden heap instead of just her. He shifted her a little and then cradled her close, apparently unbothered that she would stain his clothing as well.

“How far away do you live?” he asked.

It took some effort to form words. “A few blocks.” She pointed in the correct direction. _It’s not as if he could carry me that far, but it’s generous of him to ask, I guess._

His gaze darted, mental gears whirring. She waited for him to set her down, pat her on the head, and send her on her way… but then he said, “We’re closer to my place.”

_What?_

He glanced between her and her bike for a moment before deciding, “I’m going to set you down for a minute so I can lock this on the bike rack over there. Is that okay?”

“Yeah?” she managed, wide-eyed and bewildered. She remembered him being kind, if reserved, as a teenager. That didn’t merit this… princess treatment. Why did he care so much? Was he like this with everyone? That had to be exhausting.

True to his word, he set her on her feet with utmost gentleness, looped her bike lock into place, and then came back to look her over before hefting her up again. If he noticed the red stain on the back of her skirt, he said nothing, although it might have been covered by mud. (She prayed it was.) It occurred to her to protest, to insist she could walk on her own, but it felt so good to relax. To let someone else take care of her for a few minutes.

She didn’t speak. She had nothing to say.

He walked a block and a half without complaining once.

They approached a two-story house, older but still a step up from the apartment she shared with Alya. Since Adrien’s hands were occupied, Marinette reached out to open the door for them, and pulled it shut behind them once he’d stepped over the threshold. He set her down in the upstairs bathroom.

“I have some clothes that you can wear if you want,” he offered. “They might not fit the best, but they’re clean and dry at least.”

She nodded, managing a small, tired smile. “That would be great. Thank you.”

He nodded and passed her a towel from the linen closet. “I don’t know how much time you have, but you’re welcome to take a shower.” He hesitated, then offered a smile. “The water’s usually nice and warm. It always makes me feel better after a rough day.”

It had definitely been a rough day. “I don’t have any more classes today, just work to do. A warm shower sounds wonderful.”

His smile brightened with honest joy at being able to help her. “You can use anything that’s in there.” A flash of self-consciousness. “I, uh, I have a lot of hair products.”

Unexpectedly a laugh bubbled in her throat. “Don’t worry about it,” she reassured him. “The last thing I’m doing today is judging you. Thank you so much, for everything. I don’t know how to repay you.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her with that inexplicably intimate warmth in his eyes and smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he told her finally. “It’s what friends do.”


	5. Chapter 5

She blinked, surprised but pleased. Were they friends? Well, if they hadn’t been before, they certainly were now. Crisis Bonding Moment. “Thanks,” she repeated with a slight cock of her head.

He left the bathroom, and she played with the shower control valves for what felt like half an hour until she got the water temperature where she wanted it. She was still fully clothed when she heard a knock on the door, but when she opened it, Adrien all but ran up the wall. “Here’s some clothes,” he said from around the corner, holding out the shirt and sweatpants in his hand and waving them for her to take.

She pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh—she did appreciate his trying to preserve her modesty. She thanked him again, took the outfit change, and closed the door again so he could relax. Finally she stripped and stepped into the steamy shower with a sigh.

Though she knew she couldn’t stay in here forever and use up all his hot water, she took her time scrubbing the blood and dirt and grass stains off her skin. The scraped spots stung, but she rubbed them clean too.

Adrien hadn’t been exaggerating: shampoos, conditioners, de-tanglers, and de-frizzers lined the shower. Side effects of lifetime modeling, she supposed—you learned to take care of your assets. She picked up a shampoo that looked reasonable and lathered up her muddy hair. Twice, just to be safe.

Once she was fully rinsed and repeated, she turned off the shower and used the unbelievably fluffy towel to dab herself dry. _(So fluffy._ Like a _chinchilla_. Where did he _buy_ this?) Her underwear had soaked through, so she resigned herself to going commando and pulled on Adrien’s clothes, which smelled unfairly good. It was only an Ultimate Mecha Strike T-shirt and black sweats, yet she felt wrapped in him, an intimacy.

She had to admit, she didn’t mind the idea.

When she emerged, her hair loose and damp around her face, he was waiting in the hall with a plate of warm Mais Oui cookies. He held it out, and she took two before following him back downstairs to the living room. They settled onto the couch, the plate between them. They weren’t touching at all… yet the moment felt closer. She sneaked a look at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. And trying to keep her hands to herself, which was a more difficult feat than she would have thought. Something about him invited touch. Did he want to reach out and graze his fingertips against her, too? To trace lines and angles and curves that were architecture and design in themselves?

Their eyes met over the plate, and Marinette looked quickly away. _Cool your jets_ , she told herself. He’d invited her over like a gentleman, helped her recover, and she wanted to crawl into his lap. An hour ago, she hadn’t even been entirely sure they were friends!

He pushed himself back to his feet, though, and for a moment she froze, thinking he’d somehow been able to read her thoughts and found them too disturbing to sit beside—too polite and considerate himself to have even entertained the idea. He left, and she shoved another cookie in her mouth, fully prepared for it to be her last before he ushered her out the door. But he returned with a little red plastic box under his arm, and he knelt in front of her to open it…She leaned over to peek. A first aid kit.

“This might sting a little,” he warned her as he uncapped some antibiotic cream. “You don’t have any allergies, right? To medication?”

She shook her head no.

“Great.” He examined her knees first, then her forearms. “They look okay to me, just scrapes. I’m just going to put on antibiotics and Band-Aids, okay?”

“Okay,” she echoed. Suddenly she realized that if she had needed serious medical help, he would have dropped everything to get that for her. Flushing a little, she shifted backward. “You know, you don’t have to do this. I can fix them up.” Huffing out an embarrassed laugh, she pointed out, “It’s definitely not the first time I’ve taken a spill.” She’d been an absolute klutz as a child. Finishing puberty had helped her worst balance issues, but even now, the only time she could be called graceful was when she was working out or sparring in the gym.

He smiled, tender and warm. His fingers grazed the outside of her calf, as if in reassurance. “I want to help. Let me take care of it.” Let me take care of _you_. “Have a couple cookies.”

“I’ve already had three or four,” she admitted.

She expected him to laugh, but she should have known better. He beamed. “Aren’t they so good?”

“They’re delicious!”

“Baked goods,” he sighed lovingly as he smoothed the Band-Aid over the wound on her left knee. “They’ve been there for me when nothing else has.”

That didn’t make sense to her, not with modeling culture so stringent. “Were you allowed to eat those when you modeled?” she asked before realizing how thoughtless the question had been. He’d mentioned he didn’t work for his father anymore, and she vaguely remembered them having a rough relationship. He probably didn’t want to think about those times.

The cords of his neck stood out briefly, but when he looked up at her, he relaxed. “No,” he said. “I had a strict diet, and I was hungry most of the time. Especially as active as I was. The day I quit, I had two entire baguettes and a pizza for dinner.” At this, his lips quirked upward. “I felt sick for the next 24 hours, but it was worth it.”

She breathed out a light laugh. Growing up with loving baker parents, she’d always taken it for granted that she’d be fed and fed well. The man kneeling before her hadn’t known that kind of care. Trying not to think too hard about the compulsion to comfort him through touch, she reached out and combed her fingers through his sunshine-golden hair. The strands grazed against her hand, light and soft, and drifted back into place, and she could have sworn she felt him _lean_ into the caress.

It took all her willpower to pull her hand back.

“Next time I visit my parents,” she offered, “I’ll bring you back some goodies.”

With utmost drama, he touched one slim hand to his heart. “I would be forever in your debt. When I was in Paris, I loved your parents’ food.”

Her chest warmed from the inside. She was biased toward the family bakery, of course, but anyone who felt the same automatically earned 300 brownie points in her book.

After tenderly pressing the final bandage into place, Adrien rose to pluck a cookie from the plate and sit beside Marinette.  “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I’m no longer sobbing hysterically in the mud, so that’s a good starting point,” she joked. Then, more seriously, “Much better. Thank you. I really appreciate you helping me out.”

In tiny circles, he rubbed his fingertips against his palms with a soft smile. “I’ll give you a ride back when you’re ready to go get your bike.” His gaze skittered from her face when he added, “But you can hang out here if you want. And have dinner. If you want.”

The option tingled in her abdomen. On one hand, she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. On the other, she had so much work to do.

But he _had_ mentioned doing homework together…

“I actually have to get back to work soon,” she admitted. When his face dropped, she hastened to add, “But you could come over? I have to redo a project draft so it would actually be really helpful to have someone else’s opinion.”

“Really?” Beaming, he split the last cookie and handed her half. “That would be great. I’d love that. Nino’s gone most of the time and I prefer working with company.”

Oh, yeah, hadn’t Alya mentioned once that Nino lived with Adrien? “Yeah, Alya’s gone this week, so the apartment feels really empty.” Especially in the absence of Chat Noir. A little saddened by the reminder, her smile shrunk despite the melty cookie perfection.

He cocked his head and scrutinized her. “What’s wrong?”

 _I sort of adopted a stray cat and he’s the only friend I have and he might be dead._ Yeah, _that_ would go over well. Way to portray a healthy adaptation to adult life. “My prof didn’t like my first design and couldn’t really give me anything solid to go on for the reboot,” she said, which was technically true. “I’m a little nervous about messing it up again.”

Adrien leaned back and tapped his chin, considering. “What’s the assignment?”

She described the parameters, struck anew by how artistically vague they were.

“Would you mind showing me your original draft? Just so I can get an idea of what you started with.”

Despite her embarrassment at the design being a flop, she knew she needed his input, so she agreed to it. Not long after, she bundled up her ruined outfit and balanced on the back of Adrien’s bike as he rode them back to the scene of the crime. She unlocked and mounted her bike, then gestured with her head for him to follow her. The rain had stopped, although the sky still looked suspiciously grey, so she took the faster rather than the prettier route.

She ducked into the apartment, with him on her heels. On sight of her room, she realized her dilemma: she no longer had a reason to wear his clothes. But they were so comfortable, and (though she shouldn’t have cared) they smelled like him. To postpone the inevitable, she unwound her dress and underwear and dropped them into the plastic bucket by the washer; she normally used it for soaking hand-wash-only materials, but for now it would work to quarantine the mess until she could assess the damage. Despite her earlier thought that it was permanent, maybe she could salvage something.

“Someone’s calling you,” Adrien called from the living room, over the sound of her ringtone, the theme song of her favorite local animated show. _(Miraculous! Simply the best! Up to the test when things go wrong!)_

She darted back to answer the phone. Alya. “Hey! What’s up?”

“Hey!” Her roommate was hard to hear over the background noise of rushing water. “…cool fountain!”

“I can hear that!” Marinette pressed her finger to her other ear and raised her voice in hopes of being audible. “How’s Paris?”

“Good! Is this a good time to talk?” Then something else, but the fountain drowned it out.

“I’m having a little trouble hearing you,” she half-shouted, “and I actually have a friend over for a work session right now. Can I call you later?”

More indistinguishable words, and then “Later!”

“Bye!” Marinette ended the call and made a face.

Adrien was struggling not to laugh at her. “Technical difficulties?”

“Some fountain or something—I could barely hear her. Mind if I text her real quick to let her know?”

He waved nonchalantly. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” She swiped out a quick, concise message: _Adrien’s over for homework help. Will call you when we finish._

Alya’s first response came immediately: _???_

Then: _Gonna need all the details tonight, girl!!_

Knowing this didn’t require a response, Marinette set the phone aside and addressed her guest. “I work in my room. It’s this way.”

♥

 _Keep it together,_ Adrien commanded himself, willing away the blush in his cheeks and the huge dilation of his pupils. _You’re friends. It’s completely normal._ At least she’d turned around to open the door, so she hadn’t seen his reaction. He _knew_ she worked in her room. He’d _been there_ with her. But a bedroom seemed more private between two humans than between a human and a cat, and somehow he’d assumed she would bring her work out into the living room.

Apparently Marinette had other plans.

Forcing his feet forward, he followed her down the short hall and through the door she opened for him. He already knew her room as well as his own—the perpetually unmade bed, the framed Carven and Schiaparelli watercolor sketches hung along the wall, the mess of overlapping projects and materials, the garden of potted plants around the windows. It looked different from his human height, but he knew that room. Knew its occupant. Knew both as his second home.

Marinette pulled out her work for the project she wanted his advice on and sat down with her back resting against the bed. Habit made him want to curl up against her and purr, but he forced himself to only sit beside her. As much as he ached to press close, he left a few inches of space for propriety’s sake. They were still new friends, from her perspective, and he didn’t want to ruin it by pushing too far too fast.

But when she shifted nearer, so that their biceps and hips and thighs were a light pressure against each other as she talked him through her work, his lips curved in a smile, and he exhaled the last of his uncertainty.

He was home.


	6. Chapter 6

Sneaking a glance from across the coffeehouse, Adrien stretched languorously for the third time. He squinted at Marinette, who was bent over a sketch and therefore not noticing him at all. The bike-accident-and-homework afternoon had brought them closer together, yet he couldn’t bring himself to pressure her into a deeper friendship. For too long he’d had it pounded into him: _keep your cards close to your chest. Show people only what they want to see. Open emotion is the gateway to destruction._

He might not be under his father’s thumb anymore, but the effects of his upbringing had been burned too deep to be shaken off so quickly.

Wanting attention but not wanting to admit it aloud, the cat inside Adrien pushed for a more effective method. He resisted… then upon further reflection, relented. The quiet method wasn’t working. He took a slow, deep breath and with determination slid his notebooks off the coffee table. They hit the floor with a quick _fwap-fwap-fwap_. Marinette jumped a little at the noise, but she didn’t look up.

This only encouraged the cat.

Adrien managed to wait a few minutes before swiping the little metal signs off the table. They clanged, the tinny sound reverberated against the hard walls. Marinette jumped again, but this time she looked around. He quickly looked away. Until he heard “Oh, hey! Adrien!”

Nonchalantly he turned to look at her, and feigned surprise. The pleasure he didn’t have to fake. “Hi, Marinette. How are you?”

“Good!” She gestured to her sketchbook. “Working. Nailing down the exact details of that design you helped me with, actually. Want to see?”

“Sure!” He started to rise to go to her, but before he could, she slid out of her seat and perched on his armrest. When she leaned over to hold out the sketch, her hair grazed his ear and her forearm pressed against his bicep. He almost asked her to slide down and squeeze into the seat with him— _no, Adrien, play it_ _cool_. He pretended that he didn’t notice, that it was pure chance he shifted for more skin-to-skin contact.

“Is something vibrating?” Marinette asked in the middle of explaining her updates. Brightening for some reason, she peered around the base of the chair and into her backpack.

Adrien froze. _Stupid_ _mistake_ , he chastised himself. _Control yourself._ He pretended to fish through his pockets. “Probably my phone.”

“Oh.” She seemed as if she wanted to say something, but an emotion he couldn’t identify passed over her expression, and she glanced down at her hands.

“So you changed the angle where the fabrics meet?” he prompted, desperate to change the subject. He had to repress a sigh of relief when she returned to her design sketch.

He planned to tell her about his shapeshifting if they continued to be friends—if she continued to like his company as a human. But not now. Not yet. He couldn’t risk losing the one part of his life that gave him the freedom to touch and love without fear.

_Keep your cards close to your chest._

♥

Nestled on a pile of folded laundry, Adrien—Chat Noir—ticked his tail every so often without opening his eyes. The nearby whirring of Marinette’s personal sewing machine lulled him, soothed him. He had tried to nap next to it, for the warm vibrations, but she had yelped and set him back on the ground. He kept it in mind, though, as an option in case he needed to get her attention.

The whirring faded to silence. The chair legs scraped thickly against the carpet, and then she made some kissing noises. He lazily slit open one eye. She was looking at him and… dragging a frayed purple ribbon back and forth on the floor in front of him.

Both eyes came open.

He reached out one dark paw to trap the ribbon, but it slipped away. He tried again with one, then both paws; she dangled it just out of reach. Staring down the strip of violet satin taunting him, he rose up on his haunches for leverage—and pounced. He skittered left, right, up, and down, bounding after his prey as Marinette giggled beside him.

Finally he slowed down, sides heaving from exertion, and she let him catch the ribbon. He held it between both front paws, nibbled a little to unravel the end some more. The cat in him loved visible destruction. She didn’t seem to mind.

But she sat down cross-legged against the wall, smile fading, and he paused to look her over. She picked pensively at her lip, eyes shadowed and brow furrowed. Spitting the now-even-more-frayed ribbon onto the carpet, he padded over to her. He sat a few inches away, giving her space if she needed it, but extended one paw far enough to touch her hip. _Are you okay?_

♥

How did Chat Noir always seem to know when she needed a little extra loving? Marinette reached out to stroke her thumb on the fuzzy bridge of his nose. Her first instinct was to tell him it was nothing, the same thing she told pretty much everyone. Yet she needed to tell her little _chaton_. “Alya got held up in Paris,” she sighed. “Car trouble, I guess. I miss her.”

He gave a sympathetic mewl.

“And right before you showed up, I got a call from _Maman_ — _Papa_ has the flu. Pretty bad.” Throat thick, she swallowed hard. Her dad had always been robustly healthy, so the thought of him succumbing to illness only served to remind her that her parents were both aging. “They’re both over 50 now. They had to hire help for the heavy lifting around the bakery. What if they get sick, or break a bone, and I’m all the way out here?” Tears burned her eyes, and she sniffed. “What if they _die?_ What am I going to do?”

Chat Noir’s ears pricked forward, then to the sides with concern. He shuffled closer to butt his forehead against her thigh. She stroked down his back and, when he didn’t bolt, picked him up to cuddle against her chest. As anxious choking bubbled from her throat, he kneaded and nuzzled her, purring all the while.

When she finally wiped her tears and took a slow, deep breath, he curled up on her lap, and she petted him lightly. She had no idea how he always knew, but she was grateful he did.

The next morning, when she stopped by the Mais Oui bakery, Mrs. Croissant waved away her money and let her know that her morning treats for the next month had been “taken care of.”

“On the house?” Marinette hated to cost them any money. “You really don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly happy to pay.”

Mrs. Croissant gave her an enigmatic smile. “You have friends around here.” And that was all she would say.


	7. Chapter 7

During Adrien’s last visit as Chat Noir, Marinette had mentioned she was trying American swing dancing as an exercise break to get her heart rate and endorphin levels up. So now he poked his head into the dance room in the student athletic center, clutching the flyer for the class. He’d worn an emerald button-down and black pants, which he now realized was a little dressy. The other guys were in jeans and T-shirts, despite the girls’ array of stylish skirts. He had no time to change clothes, so he went in as is, hoping he wouldn’t look terribly out of place.

Marinette wasn’t here yet. Maybe she had decided not to come this week? Or he’d come to the wrong class? He stood straighter and pulled his shoulders back and drew confidence from the good posture. _I can do this_. He’d taken so many lessons on so many dances; he knew that he knew what to do. And he could make polite small talk well enough.

 _You need to put yourself out there. Go for it, Adrien_.

He headed for the cluster of guys, but the instructor stopped him with a hand on his arm. At a fit and petite 5’5”, her frame made her the ideal partner. Her youthful heart-shaped face and doe-like brown eyes could have made her anywhere from 20 to 30 years old. “I haven’t seen you here before,” she said with a warm smile. Her hand stayed on his forearm, and he curled his fingers tight into his palms. “I’m Emilie, the instructor. What’s your name?”

She was _still_ _touching_ _him_. “Adrien.”

He could hear the stiffness in his own voice, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Pleasure to meet you. You’re a grad student, right?”

Surprised, he nodded. “Double master’s. Architecture and cross-cultural design.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Wow. You must be smart.” When he gave a modest shrug, she leaned in to say in a confiding tone, “I can tell.”

His curiosity needled him until he asked, “How did you know I was a grad student? Just a good guess?”

She gave a little laugh and rested her weight on her hip. “No. I get a lot of different people in here. The adults have a different…air to them, I guess, than the kids. They carry themselves differently.” She inclined her head toward a few younger students on the wall, clasping their elbows. Some others, though talking and laughing in groups, hit social cues a little late and shuffled their feet. Undergrads, still learning who they were.

Despite his ongoing issues and challenges and worries, he couldn’t argue that he was a more confident, more self-aware person than he had been as a freshman, simply from time, experience, and maturity. “That makes sense.” Masking the move as a turn to look over the younglings, he shifted so that her fingertips fell away from his skin. He didn’t know her well enough to find comfort in her touch.

A pair of students came in the door behind him, so Emilie passed by to greet them. Adrien took up the fringes of a neighboring conversation, listening more than contributing. They introduced themselves to him right before the class began.

Emilie started the class off with a warmup dance. Since there was an odd number of students, she offered her hand to Adrien. He appreciated that she wanted to make sure the new person started off on the right foot (both by not being ignored and by having a good partner in case he was terrible), but when she angled herself to lead, he bent his head to say, “I can do that.”

Full lips parted in surprise. “You’re sure? Okay.” She shifted back to follow, and on the first beat of the song, he swept them into a quick single-time, letting his muscle memory guide him through step after complicated step. A few times she laughed, obviously delighted, and her open warmth brought a smile to his face as well.

By the time the song ended, they were both breathing hard and pleased. “That was way more of a workout than I was expecting!” she admitted in an exhale. “You’re good. You ever think about teaching?”

A modest blush warmed his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “I could use a co-instructor.”

Uncertain, he inclined his head politely. “I appreciate the offer, but I have too much on my plate already.”

“I’m snatching you up again later,” she warned him, and then she walked over to the sound system, paused the music, and began to teach them a new step. Her gaze returned to him multiple times, even though they’d done this multiple times together in the last dance, so she couldn’t possibly think he didn’t understand. In the middle of her tutorial, the door creaked open with a gust of cool air, and Adrien turned automatically—then beamed when he saw Marinette setting her purse and jacket down on the windowsill, grimacing with embarrassment.

“Hi, Emilie,” she said. “Sorry I’m late!”

“Should I lie and say I’m surprised?” the instructor teased.

Marinette huffed with feigned indignation as she glanced around at her classmates. Her gaze met Adrien’s, and she grinned and waved. “Hey!”

“Hey.” He waved too, and she came over to stand beside him. He stood a little straighter.

The instructor’s gaze lingered on them a beat too long before she got back to taking her students through each move in precise slow motion. Once she’d watched them all do a few practice runs, she turned on the music again so they could put it to use. She looked to Adrien, but he was already turning toward Marinette, offering his right hand.

“Want to dance?” he asked, hoping for the best.

Marinette eased into a smile. “Of course.” When her fingertips slid over his palm, he warmed from the inside out and drew her close. His hand slipped down to cup the small of her back. She cocked her head in question, recognizing the ballroom frame. He gave her a tiny smile— _please_ _just_ _let me have this_. His body calmed where it touched hers. If this frame brought him closer to her, he’d take it if he could. It was unusual for swing but not unheard of. They both straightened, ready to begin…

“Hey, you guys.” Emilie appeared beside them, tugging lightly but firmly at Adrien’s left forearm. Her earlier warmth had turned to stiffness for some reason. “I need you to stick with the standard swing frame. For class consistency.” She gave a tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes before pushing them a few inches apart. “Thanks.”

Marinette squinted at Emilie in confusion. Adrien knew their frame had no effect on her teaching or the other students’ dancing since they weren’t the class model. But he didn’t want to make the instructor’s life any more difficult than it needed to be, so he inclined his head and yielded.

Their free hands met in front of them, and when the song began, they took their first step in perfect sync. She was tall enough that her stride matched his—no awkward jumping or stretching to stay on beat with someone a head shorter than him. He started simple to judge how much she knew, but she proved well versed and upped her game every time he did. They nailed the “new” move—multiple times in a row. Once, with only a feline grin to warn her, he led her through a complex series of spins, dips, and turns that left her panting but beaming. They finished with a blur-fast cuddle hold swung down into a low dip. A touch of pink had darkened her cheeks, and perfect teeth gleamed in an open smile he couldn’t believe he’d been able to give her.

“What _can’t_ you do?” she joked after he’d pulled her back to her full height.

He grinned; the expression was slowly becoming more familiar as he spent more time with her. “Taxes.”

She laughed, her nails grazing his skin before she drew back.

Adrien jumped when another hand touched his back. Emilie had come around again, ostensibly to provide advice for technique and posture. “Mari,” she directed, slipping between her and Adrien and into the frame, “you want to keep your head back more so your balance isn’t thrown off. You don’t want to cut into your partner’s space.”

He pressed his lips together to avoid saying something he would regret. Marinette had been perfectly fine—and Emilie was touching him again, for much longer than her instructions required. Carefully he lowered his arms and took a few steps back. “We’ll work on that. Thank you.”

The gently crisp words proved more effective than a physical push. Emilie looked between them and then moved on to help a couple of undergrads shuffling off-beat.

“That was weird,” Adrien admitted in an undertone as he shifted back into Marinette. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She paused for a moment, then glanced back at the instructor. “I…think she thinks you’re cute, actually. She gets a little territorial like that every once in a while. Some sort of stress response or something.”

He was more concerned than offended. “It’s not very professional.”

“They keep her around. She’s good at what she does and doesn’t ask for payment. Plus she’s pretty, which gets more guys to come to the class.” Marinette gave him a playful grin. “I could wingwoman for you if you want.”

Had there been a punchline there? If so, it had made a buzzing noise as it flew over his head. “Wingwoman who for me?” he asked blankly.

She pretended to twirl an invisible mustache sneakily. “Ah yes, I shall bring them together with my rapier-sharp matchmaking skills! The dancing couple! Hon hon hon!”

As if he’d been slapped, Adrien realized Marinette was at least half-jokingly planning to set up him and _Emilie_ on a date. The cat in him hissed; he half-curled away as if arching his back. She thought they would be a good couple? Emilie might be aesthetically pleasing, but she hit none of his buttons—if he never saw her again, he’d be just fine. Whereas _Marinette_ …

If he never saw Marinette again, she would take a piece of his heart with her.

Too late, he realized he was playing a dangerous game.

More important, he wasn’t sure he could stop.


	8. Chapter 8

Having promised each other that they wouldn’t buy anything, Adrien and Marinette made plans to take two hours Saturday morning to go window-shopping at some of the quaint little hole-in-the-wall shops that lined the street he lived on. He hadn’t been inside any of them yet, less because he needed to save money than because shopping just wasn’t a high priority for him. But she had noticed them during a homework visit and made a noise of interest, and he had been delighted to surprise her with the offer.

The grey skies and crisp wind made Adrien zip his jacket closed as he stood on his front step, waiting for his favorite red coat to brighten the world. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and exhaled slow and hot to watch his breath form a tiny cloud. “I am a mighty dragon,” he whispered as the fog dissipated, and then he smiled.

He repeated the cold-weather ritual a few more times before color brightened his peripheral vision. Straightening, he turned to see Marinette strolling up the sidewalk, her scarlet peacoat belted around her waist to create a fashionable, flattering hourglass figure. Every so often she broke up her walk with a skip or two, an innate irrepressible joy that made his chest squeeze in fondness. Fondness and desire to tie himself to her in an intimacy beyond homework and window shopping. She was already one of his closest friends; maybe the mating bond—

 _No, Adrien,_ he told himself. _Friends. Friends. Friends._

Marinette had shown no signs of thinking of him in any other way than friendship. For goodness’ sake, she’d talked about setting him up with someone else. There were few clearer indicators that someone was not interested in waking up next to him for the rest of their lives.

“Good morning!” she called.

He grinned and withdrew a hand to wave as he descended the three steps to meet her on the sidewalk. “I can’t believe you chose to walk over in this,” he said when she stopped beside him. “If there is a single patch of sunlight in this entire city, I will find it, and I will nap in it.”

“I’m normally not big on cold weather,” she admitted, “but this really isn’t that bad. I’m snug as a bu—” For some reason she coughed and started over. “I’m super comfy in my coat.”

But Adrien had heard the beginning of a potential pun, and he pounced. “Snug as a bug in a rug?” he finished, eyes wide with glee. “You’ve got the red-and-black color scheme. You have all those plants in your room. You don’t like cold weather. Do you have an affinity for any specific bugs, my _Lady?”_

Her eyes widened, almost confused. Then they narrowed with feigned offense. “You watch anime—cheesy _shoujo_ anime, no less—and you’re making fun of _me_ for still liking _Miraculous Ladybug_?”

He’d been thinking of an actual ladybug… but the mental image of Marinette as the fictional superheroine Ladybug almost bowled him over. Two of his favorite ladies in one. In an effort to hide the jump in his pulse, he ran with the slight deviation. “You do have the ringtone. Have you ever considered putting on a full-body suit and chasing butterflies? Maybe learning some yoyo tricks? It might be a good stress-reliever for you.”

“Oh, no, you’ve discovered my Sunday morning routine,” she said dryly.

“Come on, Bugaboo, you can admit it. This is a safe place. I won’t judge—I’m a _heroine_ addict myself.”

“I’m so disappointed in you. Puns are terrible.”

“Puns are _the best.”_ And he finally knew her well enough to let that fact out in the open.

“You know, I _liked_ you. Now I have to reconsider our friendship.” She laughed, rolled her eyes, and held out a café to-go cup. “Here, have some of this coffee. Maybe the caffeine will help jump-start your brain into a higher standard of humor.”

“It’s non-offensive and based on clever use of language! What higher standard is there?” he protested even as he reached out. When he took it, the heat sizzled against his palm even through the cardboard sleeve. He took a sip without burning his tongue, the tint of vanilla sweet over the bitterness of espresso. Perfect.

After a few swallows, he let a quiet purr rumble in his throat, and then he thumbed a droplet from the mouth of the cup and held her drink back out for her. “Thank you for sharing. Here you go.”

Smile crinkling her nose, she shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I got two.” He cocked his head in disbelief, so she held up the identical cup in her other hand. “I’ve been drinking it on my way over, so it’s almost gone. And lukewarm.”

  _She must have gotten mine extra hot to still be a good temperature now,_ he realized—the cherry on top of an already thoughtful gesture. He drew his coffee close to his chest and tried not to smile too goofily, even though he knew he probably had heart eyes. “Thanks, Mari.”

“Of course.” She bumped shoulders with him. “Now let’s go see what’s in all these shops.”

They stopped into a few clothing stores first, running their hands over everything and lowly discussing the different designs and manufacturing methods. An alpaca outlet caught their attention and begged more touchy-feely investigation. They had to combine their collective willpower to keep from buying the tiny little alpacas made from alpaca wool, an adorable invention they dubbed Alpacaception.

After an antique store and a library book sale, they came upon a pet store, and Adrien lit up at the name— _Pawsitively Purrfect_.

“Mari. We gotta go in. Just for that. I don’t even have a pet.”

She looked up at the hand-painted sign and rolled her eyes. “That’s terrible. I’m going to stay out here on principle.”

He screwed up his mouth in distaste. “You’ve cat to be kitten me right meow. I’m feline personally offended that you don’t appreciate it.”

Her eyes widened. “No. Even for you, no.”

“Would you bug out less if I switched to another animal’s theme, my Lady?”

She placed her palm flat on his forehead and pushed him away playfully. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one choosing to hang out with me,” he pointed out, grinning.

“Don’t make me reconsider that choice,” she teased. “Fine, let’s go in and look. Not that I even have a pet.”

“Well, _I_ don’t have a pet,” he said, a little too quickly. “I just feed strays sometimes.”

“Yeah. Who has time to take care of one full-time, right?” She sounded a little too insistent, as if she was trying to convince herself rather than him. “It would just…always be there…wanting to snuggle…trying to play…” She sounded less and less sure.

Adrien tried to sound like he was too busy for such things. “That’s too much.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both paused awkwardly, staring at the door to the pet store.

They went inside.

The employee at the front desk greeted them, and they paused for quick small talk before zeroing in on the kitties in the adoption enclosure. Adrien’s cat threw him at them, and Marinette was on his tail. In moments he was cradling three different cats and brushing a fourth, and she was flicking around a feather toy for the kittens.

“I just want to take you all home and love you,” he cooed, voice several pitches higher than normal. A calico mewled and nuzzled his neck as if in agreement. A Siamese mix clambered onto his shoulders and began to groom his hair.

“Don’t buy a cat,” she muttered to herself as tired kittens crawled into a pile on her lap for a nap. “Don’t buy a cat. Don’t buy a cat.”

“We have to go,” Adrien realized desolately—if he spent too much time with them, he _would_ end up adopting one. Or two. Or three…

Marinette sighed, forlorn. “You’re right.”

He hadn’t realized he’d reached for her until she gripped his hand in solidarity. Nodding at once, they reluctantly disengaged from their animals and high-stepped to get to the door. Cringing at the unhappy meows, Adrien held the door open for Marinette and then closed it behind them.

“We aren’t buying cats,” she said firmly, walking further into the store to look over the supplies, and he was happy to follow her. They peered at the fish tanks along the wall, oohing and aaahing at the pinks and greens and oranges and purples and yellows displayed in burnished bodies and fringed fins. Marinette made a face at a plastic coffee cup marketed as a tank decoration, and Adrien’s hackles rose at some unnecessarily gendered treasure chests.

“They’re _fish!”_ he hissed through gritted teeth. “Some of them are _hermaphroditic_! Why would they need _His and Hers treasure chests_?!”

  They peered at the baby corn snakes and ball pythons and crested geckos in the reptile section, and then got one whiff of the rodent section and veered around it. Marinette’s gaze lingered across the way at the cat food, so after a peek around the automated water dispensers they drifted over. Briefly they parted ways— before he turned down the cat toys aisle he saw her look at flea sprays, which offended him a little but also warmed him that she was looking out for his/Chat’s health.

He hand-tested every single cat toy and came upon his favorite—a box of handmade mice of different colors, designed to safely fray and fall apart with play. His cat loved to see changes in prey, which was why regular toys lost their appeal after five minutes of nothing new happening. Surreptitiously he tucked a few boxes under his arm and tiptoed to the cash register, out of sight of Marinette. “Do you mind just holding onto these for me for a second?” he whispered to the employee, who shrugged and said sure.

When he reappeared at Marinette’s side, he found her staring at a handsome, minimalistic cat collar, more for aesthetic than for outdoor use. The emerald satin gleamed in a soft curve, coming together in a slight V to a little gold bell. Unable to resist, he lifted a finger… and flicked the bell. It swung with a clear, high _bing_. His pupils flared so wide the overhead lights seemed blinding.

_I want it._

“You like it?” he asked her, oh so casually.

She reached up and traced one slim finger along the satin. “Yeah,” she admitted. “But I don’t—I really don’t have a cat.” She took a deep breath. “But there’s this really sweet stray that hangs out with me sometimes…”

He wanted to preen. _That’s me_. But he recognized the risk in telling him: strays could be reported to animal control, which gave them a much higher chance of being caught and impounded. “I bet he likes you a lot,” he offered. “You’d be a great caretaker.”

She beamed. “Thanks, Adrien.”

Guilt needled him for not taking the opportunity to tell her the cat’s true identity, but he didn’t want her to think he’d been invading her privacy. To distract himself from his dilemma, he turned his attention back to the collar. If he could convince her that Chat would like it… oh, but then it would still be on him when he shifted. “Since he’s not always yours,” he suggested, “you could take off the collar when you let him go. That way it wouldn’t get, you know, dirty or torn or lost.” Or disintegrated.

She tapped her cheek, considering. “It would look really nice on him,” she admitted.

He had to turn away to hide his smug little grin. Once he could manage a neutral expression again, he took the collar off the rack and studied it closely. Oh, it felt so good against his fingertips.

“What do you think?”

“As a completely objective third party with absolutely no personal interest in the matter,” he said, “I think you should get it.”

“Hmm.” She took it from him and looked it over. “You can go ahead and keep looking. I need to stare at this some more before I decide.”

He laughed, appreciative of her honesty. “No problem. I’ll meet you at the door.” He continued down the cat collar and leash aisle before bolting to the cash register. “I want to get those mice,” he told the employee, practically throwing his money at her.

She smiled and with laughter in her voice said, “You want a bag?”

“Nope!” He glanced nervously back toward Marinette—there would be no good way to explain why he was buying math-problem-level numbers of toy mice for a cat he didn’t have. Granted, he had been trying to convince her to buy a collar for a cat she didn’t own, but at least she had a cat in the picture to make it plausible.

Once the employee handed him his receipt and the boxes, he thanked her and darted behind a large display of dog kennels to rip open the cardboard and stuff the little mice into every single pocket he had. He had gone casual today (read: no skinny jeans), so the new bulges were barely noticeable.

When he came out, Marinette was waiting by the door… with nothing in her hands. She inclined her head. “Come on, I want to go see the tiny art gallery next door.”

He looked for a bag or a gleam of green satin, but came up empty. Sigh. To be fair, he _wasn’t_ her cat. Just a stray.

He opened the door for her and, as they both called goodbye to the cashier, he put it out of his mind. Nothing to upset himself over.

But when he showed up as Chat Noir the next afternoon and she lovingly clipped that green collar around his neck and then flicked the bell for him, he refused to leave her lap all day.


	9. Chapter 9

On television, two masked teenagers leapt forward in perfect synchronization. Together they disarmed a gaudy villain and then captured the evil butterfly inside him.

“Time to de-evilize!” Marinette whisper-shouted along with the heroine, Ladybug. Her fists pumped lightly into the air in her enthusiasm.

Adrien’s hands rested on her kneecaps where she’d extended her legs over his lap. She had expected him to shift around after a few episodes, but he seemed unbothered by the weight—seemed to like it, even.  Sometimes he drew abstract lines and shapes over her skin, fingertips grazing light and smooth. The tender, intimate touch tingled, more than when her parents or roommate did the same thing, but since she couldn’t explain this phenomenon, she ignored it.

He joined her in quoting along with Ladybug when she threw up her Lucky Charm: “Miraculous Ladybug!” They both made whooshing mystical sounds and wiggled their fingers in the air as the animated Paris healed all its wounds from the akuma in a glimmer of magic. People dropped back into place; buildings resurrected.

As Ladybug and Chat Noir fist-bumped onscreen, Marinette and Adrien mirrored the motion on the couch. “Pound it!” They grinned at each other, and she crinkled her nose.

“I can’t believe we both still watch this,” she admitted. “It came out when we were, what, sophomores in high school?”

 “My dad didn’t like me watching TV—I had to borrow Nino’s laptop and watch it online.” Then he flushed a little for some reason. “Chat Noir was, in a weird way, kind of a role model for me.”

A laugh burst from her. “That explains the puns, I guess,” she teased.

“I already liked puns,” he protested with a grin as he leaned forward, closer to her. “No, more like… He was so confident, and sure of himself. He got to help people. And I was still learning how not to act like a homeschooler.”

 _What?_ Incredulous, Marinette leaned in as well. “You didn’t act like a homeschooler. Everyone liked you. I thought you were awesome.”

He brightened. “You did?”

The desktop wallpaper. The photos. The phone theft. The copy of his _schedule_. She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. I was… kind of weird about it, to be honest.”

“We were all weird in high school.”

With a grimace she shook her head. “Really weird. _Creepy_ weird.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said easily. “As long as you don’t still kiss the voodoo doll of me every night before bed, I’m not concerned.”

“I didn’t have a voodoo doll!”

“Well, not that you’re going to _tell_ me.” He grinned. “Really though, it’s not a big deal. I never understood why you got all stumbly around me—you were so cool with everyone else.”

 _You must have been the only person in the class who didn’t understand that,_ she thought ruefully. “Yeah, I… really wanted you to like me. I got nervous.” She evaded the idea of her romantic interest. Now that they were friends (and pretty good friends, at that), she didn’t want to make things weird. “It’s almost funny that you wanted to be like Chat Noir—I always wanted to be like Ladybug. She was so good under pressure. She could handle anything.”

Adrien’s lips curved in a dreamy smile. “Ladybug was the best. She took on every challenge Hawkmoth threw at her, all while trying to balance her busy regular life. And she didn’t take crap from anyone, even her partner. She’s so independent and funny and powerful and strong…”

“Does somebody have a fictional crush?” she teased. It warmed her, though—how positively he viewed the heroine. He didn’t feel undermined or offended that she was a female in power; he liked and valued her for her strength and confidence.

“If I’m going to have a fictional crush,” he said, “it might as well be for the _coolest superheroine ever._ I’ll _fight_ people over that.”

Marinette cocked her head, absorbing the fierceness of his loyalty. “Maybe you turned out more like Chat Noir than you realized.”

This cut through the Ladybug haze, and he met her gaze, cocking his head to mirror her posture. “Really? You think?”

“Yeah.” With a soft smile she grazed her fingers over his biceps, and his eyes closed in contentment. “Especially in that—”

One eye slitted open in interest.

With one finger she tapped him on the nose, and he opened both eyes in pleased surprise. “—you’ve got the Ladybug crush _and_ the puns down,” she finished.

“I’m not paw-sitive that’s a compliment,” he complained with a smile. “Besides, Ladybug is better than Chat any day of the week. He’s more comic relief than anything.”

Whoa, now. She identified more with Ladybug than with Chat, but she would fight people for the silly cat without hesitation. “That’s not true,” she argued. “Chat is great—yes, he provides her some levity when she gets too intense in the fight. But he’s loyal and he’s smart, even if he’s a goof sometimes. And he always has her back. _Always_. She couldn’t do it without him.” She put up a fist playfully. “Chat Noir Defense Mode engaged.”

He beamed. “That’s cool of you to say. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” She adored Chat, but she adored Adrien even more, and if he identified with the feline superhero then she would defend both to the death. Her hand found his, and their fingers laced together. “That stray cat I like—I actually named him Chat Noir.”

“Because he’s black and he’s a cat and he had the bad luck to get stuck in the rain?” Adrien joked.

“No.” She swatted him. “I mean, initially, yes, it was just a stand-in name. But I kept it because he always shows up when I need him.”

At that he fell silent, averting his eyes and pretending not to notice the blush creeping back into his cheeks. His response confused her—it had been a compliment more to her kitty than to the character that time. Before she could probe, her phone buzzed and burst into song. _(Miraculous! The luckiest! The power of love always so strong!)_ She jumped to answer it with her free hand.

“When are you coming back?” she demanded as soon as she’d accepted the call.

Alya laughed on the other end of the line. “Girl, hold your horses. I’m on my way back now.”

“What’s your ETA? Soon?”

“Very soon.”

And the apartment door opened to reveal Alya striking a pose, still wearing her backpack and laptop case. Then with an open grin she shot Mari finger guns. “Hey girl! Miss me?”

A high-pitched shriek burst from Marinette’s throat, and she bolted off the couch to give her roommate a huge hug. “Yes??!! You’re back! Yay!!”

Alya pulled back and looked around the floor. “Is Chat not here? Usually he’s right there with y…Oh!” Her gaze had landed on the handsome blond lounging on the couch. “Adrien! Hey!”

“Hi, Alya.” He smiled warmly and waved, but Marinette recognized a slight reserve in the greeting that he never had when it was just the two of them.

Alya turned slightly to give Marinette a wide-eyed, impressed-but-confused look and a secret thumbs-up. Marinette blushed and gave a tiny shake of her head. Whatever Alya thought was happening—no. She was so far off. She and Adrien were friends, good friends.  It hadn’t even crossed her mind to exaggerate it into something more complicated.

Except when she held his hand. Or snuggled into his side while they worked together. Or caught herself watching his tiny movements and expressions when he wasn’t looking.

“Were you able to see Marinette’s parents?” Adrien asked Alya. “How’s her father doing?”

Marinette jerked out of her thoughts—she hadn’t thought to ask yet, but _had_ Alya been able to see him while she was in Paris?

“Yeah, I stopped by right before I left.” Alya angled herself so she could address them both. “I mean, he’s not great, but he’s over the worst of it.” She provided an overview of what she knew, what she’d seen, and Marinette’s shoulders sank in relief. She hadn’t talked to her mother since last week, and while school and commissions and Adrien and Chat had kept her too busy to wallow, she’d worried. It was good to know her best friend had been able to offer support and see _Papa_ for herself so she could honestly reassure the people who cared. And although it didn’t surprise her at all for Adrien to show concern, it was still so sweet of him…

Wait a moment. Something seemed off to her, even though it took her brain a second to catch up to watch to it was.

Had she told Adrien about her dad catching the flu?

She must have. She told him everything; it had to have come up at some point. But she had kept it pretty under wraps. She remembered getting the call, warding off a few concerned classmates, crying with Chat, telling Alya over the phone…but not having that conversation specifically with _him_.

“I’ll head out,” Adrien said as he pushed himself to his feet. “It was great to see you again, Alya.”

“You too! Hey, we should all four of us get together soon.”

“Definitely!”

It took Marinette a second to catch up to this. “Adrien, you’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you two catch up. It’s been a while.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.

He gave her a warm, genuine smile. “It’s really okay, Mari. You haven’t seen her in weeks. Text me later, okay?” After a lingering hug, he waved goodbye to them both and let himself out the door.

Marinette didn’t realize she had stared after him until Alya asked suggestively, “So you guys are on _Mari_ terms now, huh?”

She jerked back to mock-glare at her roommate. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“Girl, it is _so_ like that. Do you not _see_ the way you two look at each other?”

“We don’t look at each other like _any_ thing!”

“Mmmm-hmmmmmm.” Alya rolled her eyes with a satisfied smirk. “Okay then. I know the denial phase when I see it. Moving on.”

Marinette was too thrown off balance to move on. “There’s no _denial_. There’s nothing _there_! We’re both just friends!”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say.” Alya put her hands up, despite the laughter in her eyes. “I—the _professional journalist_ —am misreading or something. My bad.”

Marinette huffed. “Yeah, you are. Thank you. Now tell me about Paris!”


	10. Chapter 10

_Is it weird to celebrate the one-month anniversary of being someone’s friend?_ Adrien wondered as he sifted through handmade bug-themed crystal jewelry in a locally owned café-turned-art-gallery. _Yeah, it’s weird. People don’t do that_. Granted, most people didn’t make friends by turning into a cat, either, but it had worked out surprisingly well for him. Sweet, generous, funny Marinette had already become one of his best friends.

He set aside a dragonfly charm, a spider broach, a scarab pin, and a butterfly clip before he found what he was looking for: a pair of ladybug earrings, the scarlet pyrope vivid against silver wire and black onyx. Classic and cute, they reminded him of her. He paid for them and slipped them into the little shimmery-red gift bag the cashier offered. Perfect.

For fear of losing them if he took them to school, he dropped the earrings off at his house before hopping on his bike and booking it to campus. He’d had to pack a sandwich—he didn’t get so much as a lunch break before classes ended at 6pm, so he barely had time to jump in the shower and dress before driving with Nino to meet the girls at Beret Restaurant and Winery.

“You guys are late,” Alya said as she swirled a small glass of red wine. “We started on the wine tasting without you.”

“Dude, not cool,” Nino complained, sliding in next to her at the bar.

“Sorry about the delay,” Adrien whispered to Marinette, who scooted over with a smile so he could take the stool to her right. “It was my fault—my class ran late and I had to wash up afterward.”

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “If you had been any later, I was going to _leave_ you here. It would have been _tragic_.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I would’ve been heartbroken. Absolutely inconsolable.” Slipping one hand into his pocket, he fingered the gift bag. Would this be a good time to give it to her, since they were out to a sort of celebratory dinner anyway? He mentally reviewed the opener he’d practiced: _Can you believe it’s been a month since we ran into each other at the bakery?_ He inhaled and started, “Can y—?”

“You guys gotta double date with us more often!” Alya grinned. “It’s way more fun than hanging out with _this_ guy by myself.”

“You’re lucky you see me at all, and you want to make it a group thing?” Nino put a hand to his chest. “Even if they _are_ a cute couple, come on!”

Knowing it was a joke, Adrien was prepared to roll his eyes, pretend he hadn’t already wished for that, and move on. But Marinette flushed a deep, upset red. “It—it’s not a date!” she sputtered hotly. “We’re not like that! Will you _please_ stop _saying_ that! It’s weird and not true!”

Alya and Nino looked taken aback by her vehemence, but Adrien felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d known she wasn’t interested in developing a romantic relationship, but… wow. He hadn’t known she was that opposed to the idea. _And here I was, silently entertaining the possibility. Like a jerk._

Clearly he had misread the intimacy in their friendship. It made him want more; it had made her want to draw a clear line. Averting his eyes, he slid the earrings deeper into his pocket and pulled his hand out. A gift on a perceived date would only hurt her more.

To punish himself—and to give his friend what she really wanted—he shifted away to break physical contact with her.

♥

Marinette’s arm and leg iced at the sudden loss of contact, her insides aching as if to ask _where did he go_. Her gaze flicked to Adrien, but he was studying the menu on the counter in front of him, brow furrowed. She wanted to cry—this was exactly why she had asked Alya not to hint that they were dating. They walked a fine line as it was, and she didn’t want him to think she was boyfriend-zoning him. _Oh, sure, I’ll hang out with you, and eventually you’ll want to make mouth kisses with me._ No! She loved him as a friend, nothing more, and it wounded her to see him discomfited because he thought otherwise.

He didn’t even want to _touch_ her now.

She wanted to follow him, close the distance, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him more. To suggest he was _right_. She tucked her elbows into her sides and clasped her hands in her lap and pretended to relax: _oh yes this is fine this is what I wanted too_.

“I have to use the restroom,” Alya said then.

“I’ll go with you,” Marinette offered automatically. After warning the guys to watch their stuff, they both slid out of their seats and headed for the back of the restaurant. Once the “Ladies” door had swung closed behind them, she turned to the mirror to check herself over.

“What was _that!”_ Alya demanded, making her jump.

She turned. “What was what?”

“I get that you’re in denial but, girl, that was just mean.”

Marinette floundered, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?”

“First of all, you yelled at me, which, not cool. Just talk to me like a _normal person_ if you want me to stop.” Okay, yeah. Thankfully Alya didn’t look too offended. But then she brought up the second point. “More important, you seriously hurt Adrien’s feelings. Nobody likes to hear someone’s so…angry about being confused as their girlfriend.”

Now that was too much. “I wasn’t the one who did that. _He_ knows we’re friends. _I_ know we’re friends. _You’re_ the ones who made it weird. He moved farther away from me because he thought that would help make our status clearer!”

“He didn’t move because Nino and I pointed it out,” Alya argued. “He was fine until you blew a fuse about how terrible it would be for anyone to think you were dating!”

“You say it like he didn’t spend most of his life with people draping themselves over him just because he’s rich and famous and also super cute! I don’t want him getting the wrong idea!”

“The wrong _idea?_ You don’t see the way he…?” Alya took in a long, deep breath and, resting her weight on her hip, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look. I can’t tell you what to do. _I_ think he likes you, but it’s not my battle to fight.” Her hand dropped to her side, and she gave Marinette an almost sad look. “Just…do what’ll make you happy, okay?”

What could she possibly say to that? “Okay,” Marinette said weakly.

Alya reached for the door, then turned back for one last comment. “Even if you don’t DTR, you should make sure he wasn’t hurt. You don’t want to let something like that simmer.”

She was right, of course. So after dinner when Nino and Alya went to get their cars, Marinette pulled Adrien aside outside the restaurant. He cocked his head when he looked down at her, and although his eyes weren’t sad or angry, she could feel the slightest distance between them. And that was her fault. “Hey,” she apologized, “I’m sorry for freaking out.”

♥

Adrien managed a small smile, well aware that this regret was for the intensity of her response, not the idea itself. “Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t her fault he’d begun to want more than she signed up for.

“No, it wasn’t cool. I was just frustrated, and I overreacted.” She sighed. “I really value our friendship, you know? And I don’t want it to be…reduced to something it’s not.”

He barely held back a wince. The earrings weighed heavy in his pocket. He couldn’t return them; they were too _her_. Maybe he could save them for her birthday. Or Christmas. Or the hole where he wanted to bury himself.

“I’m sorry things got weird there. Are we okay? Are _you_ okay?” She looked up at him with wide, sad eyes, and when she touched his forearms in contrition, he couldn’t say no.

“Yeah, of course we’re fine.” To prove this to her and to himself, he tugged her into a hug. She gripped him tightly, and he buried his face in her hair, and for a moment he could pretend that she loved him.

When he got in Nino’s car, he leaned his head against the window and sighed.

“Dude,” Nino said as he pulled onto the road, “when are you going to ask out Marinette?”

 _Of course he knows._ Adrien swallowed hard and tried to level out his voice. “She just wants to be friends,” he said, not bothering to argue that he wasn’t romantically interested in her. “And that’s fine. I like having friends.”

“No, dude, she’s totally into you.”

The impossible idea hurt too much to think about. “No. You heard her, okay? She’s not interested. She made it crystal clear. Can we go home now, please?”

Nino slit his eyes at him. “What, so you can mope?”

He was fully planning to mope. “No, of course not.”

“You’re so not allowed to watch sad anime and cry, man.”

Adrien sputtered out a laugh despite himself. “There go my evening plans.”

“I know. That’s why I said it.” Nino turned onto the highway, then used his fist to lightly bump Adrien’s shoulder in a show of fidelity. “You can eat my ice cream if you want, though. You’re the best, bro. If she doesn’t get that, she’s not worth your time.”

The problem was, he already knew she _was_ worth his time. But he appreciated the sentiment. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Although he’d said they were fine as two people, Adrien couldn’t bring himself to visit Marinette as Chat, even when his touch hunger began to claw under his skin. Guilty that he’d been using that as a way to get closer to her, he knew this was for the best. He had grown too intimate, and now he would push himself away for her sake. She didn’t need him in the same way anyway. If she had ever said anything about appreciating the cat’s loyal presence, it conveniently slipped his mind.

 _It’s just a cat,_ he told himself as he sat in the corner of his living room, doing homework by himself in the dark. _Maybe she’ll miss cat-me for a week, but she’ll get used to it, and she’ll move on._ It happened that way with human-him, and he didn’t have the fluffy cuteness factor.

The two of them had already scheduled homework time a few days later, though, and he couldn’t bail on that. He could—and would—smother the flickering flame of his romantic feelings until it was completely extinguished. Their friendship meant too much to him to let unrequited feelings taint it.

He showed up at her door precisely on time and knocked, only to hear Alya yell from inside, “I told you! Let yourself in!”

He came through and leaned into her bedroom doorway to say, “Sorry. Hi.”

She was typing at her desk laptop, but she looked up to roll her eyes at him. “How many times we gotta tell you?” she teased. “You pretty much live here anyway. It’s seriously okay.”

He had never had free access to a friend’s home before, and besides, he’d had it pounded into him not to assume he was welcome. “Thank you. I’ll remember next time.”

She made a shooing motion and returned to her work.

He continued on to Marinette’s room, where happy pop music filtered through the ajar door. He pulled it the rest of the way open with one finger and found her on her stomach, humming along off-key as she snipped along the the edge of a swath of fabric. Smiling, he shifted enough to creak the floor and gave a little wave when she looked up in surprise.

“What are you working on?” he asked as he crouched to sit cross-legged on the floor across from her.

She rolled over and sat up to face him. “That new commission I told you about, for the theatre department. This is going to be for the main character of the next play, actually.” Holding out her design, she beamed at his _ooh_ of appreciation. “I just need to finish up this one piece and then I’ll start on actual homework. What’ll you be doing?”

He pulled out his architecture history textbook. “Reviewing the last chapter. I have a test tomorrow.”

“Oh, gross.” She pulled a disgusted face out of sympathy. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll do great. I believe in you.”

With a tiny smile, he averted his gaze. “Thanks.” It didn’t count as flirting to provide and accept support. Friends did that. They’d done that for a month before he blew everything out of proportion.

“Having projects is cool because I don’t have to take tests,” she said as she returned to her work. “But then again… _projects_.”

“Much more subjective than tests,” he agreed. “And so many work hours.”

“So many!” she wailed playfully.

He let his gaze wander, taking in the piles of fabric, well-used pincushions, familiar garden of plants along the windows… and the collar lying on her nightstand, beside a cat brush. The sight knocked the breath from his lungs, and he had to fist his hands to keep himself from reaching out to touch it. It was his, but it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not if he wanted to keep his promise to himself to stop taking advantage of her.

“Oh, you saw that, huh?” Marinette had followed his line of sight, and she no longer seemed quite so playful. “I did buy it, that one day.”

Gritting his teeth with guilt, he swallowed hard. “Did the cat like it?”

“I think so.” Her lips turned downward, pursed a little. “I haven’t seen him in a couple days, though.”

 _I give it three more days,_ Adrien thought sadly, _and then she’ll be out of the habit of seeing Chat, and she won’t notice the absence anymore_. But he tried to make his tone encouraging: “I’m sure he’s fine.”

She forced a little smile. “Yeah, probably.”

♥

Something had changed. She felt it in the air, in the distance between them. Something had changed, and she didn’t like that it had pushed him away. A week ago, he would have been flush against her, hugging her in reassurance, making terrible puns so she would laugh despite herself. She wanted to reach out and drag him to her, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. If he was testing the boundaries, reassessing how close she wanted him—and how close _he_ wanted to be—she had to let it evolve naturally.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t _suggest_ , right?

“So what’s your test on?” she asked, patting the floor beside her, the motion casual but firm. He hesitated but obeyed the call, and when she leaned down to darken a chalk line, she used the angle to lean against him a little. Not too much, but enough to make it clear she wasn’t about to settle for this physical-distance nonsense.

He didn’t stiffen at her touch, but he didn’t relax the way he normally did, either. A frown pulled at her lips. _Definitely something wrong._ _Is he…? No_. Could he still be hurting from the dinner outburst? He’d said he was okay. _But_ , she realized, _he’s too much of a gentleman to blame me for my emotions_.

If he still thought she only wanted friendship as a foothold for flirting, of course he would want to keep a polite distance. In his head, she wanted more than he did, so he was graciously easing off the easy affection and camaraderie that could have been misinterpreted as romantic intention. In a way that wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t destroy the connection they both valued.

She’d apologized for making things weird. She hadn’t truly fixed it.

“Hey,” she said, shifting her cross-legged position to angle herself toward him.

He looked up from his textbook. “Yeah?”

Her hands moved of their own accord to touch him; she had to pull back. “I’m sorry about the other night. I was rude and thoughtless.”

His expression remained solemn. “I told you, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” She took a deep breath and tried to remember exactly what she’d said so she could rephrase it. “I don’t think romance would be _reduce_ anything between us. That’s not why I freaked out at Alya. But I want you to know I value you for _you_ , not for some romantic relationship I’ve built up in my head.” The fantasizing-about-Adrien days were long behind her, no matter what Alya thought. “You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, and I’m beyond delighted that we’re so close. I mean, I consider you one of my best friends.”

His eyes widened and lips parted, curved into a tentative smile. The polite façade had fractured. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” she insisted, finally daring to touch her fingertips to his forearm.

Forehead smoothing out, he softened his proper posture. “I consider you one of my best friends too.”

This revelation pleased her more than she had thought it would. Impulsively she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged his head forward just enough that she could rest her forehead against his. He sighed, and his hand found her free one. Their fingers interlaced.

Best friends.

Nothing more needed to be said.

When she moved on to sketching patterns, she lay on the floor with her legs extended over his, and he tapped on her knees while he reread the chapter and flipped through his flashcards. She stayed draped across his lap until the sky darkened so much that she had to get up to turn on a light. He checked his phone and gave a little _oh_ of surprise. “It’s past nine, Mari. I should be heading out.”

She helped heft him to his feet and hugged him. “Thanks for coming over. I like having you here.” An understatement.

“Of course.” He smiled against her hair. “Are we still doing lunch tomorrow?”

Her lower lip pouted out even though he couldn’t see it. “Actually I can’t. I promised one of my classmates I’d take a look at her project, and that was her only free time.” While she loved helping out, she hated to miss out on her time with Adrien. “Would you want to go to the bakery with me in the morning instead?” she offered.

He took the schedule change in stride, ever gracious. “Definitely, that sounds good.”

“Awesome!” She walked him to the door and gave him another goodbye hug for good measure. “Have a good night. See you tomorrow for morning carbs. And make sure you get enough rest before your test.”

“Sleep well, my Lady,” he said with a grin and a little finger wave before letting himself out.

She didn’t sleep well, though. Alone in the dark, despite the glow of knowing she and Adrien were each other’s best friends, she worried endlessly over her missing cat. _Not mine_ , she reminded herself, _not really_ —but that didn’t change the truth of her feelings. Chat Noir belonged to her, and she to him. And if he had left her, he had left a hole behind that couldn’t be bandaged.

As a result she woke up exhausted and sluggish. She barely managed a tired nod and hug for Adrien when he walked up, but thankfully he seemed sleepy too: he leaned his head against hers in companionable silence, not demanding anything. His mere presence helped her reenergize, though, and after a moment she stood straighter.

As they walked past the bank, Marinette pretended to fish through her bag so she could slow down. One hand rustling around half-heartedly, she bent over to peer around the shrubs, behind the pillars, beside the steps. Nothing. Just like every day for the past week. The longest he’d ever disappeared before was four days, back before the Bike Incident that had really brought her and Adrien together. Worry eroded her insides—why would Chat have disappeared like that? Had his real owner (the reminder hurt) moved away? Had her kitty been caught by animal control? Hit by a car or a bike?

Maybe he had just found someone else to shadow.

Ignoring the burn in her throat at that thought, she finally gave up looking and caught up to Adrien, who had paused to wait for her. “You okay?” he asked.

She had to swallow before she replied, “I’m just…worried. I haven’t seen my _chaton_ in over a week. He’s never been gone this long.”

Adrien rubbed her back with one hand. “Cats are hardy. He’s probably living it up somewhere. Don’t worry.”

She turned in to his chest and hid her face in the crook of his neck. His arms came naturally around her, a warm, solid frame to protect her from the world. Her fingers curled into his shirt, wrinkled the soft fabric. “But what if he’s not?” she mumbled, voice broken. “Or what if he is, and he just doesn’t like me anymore? Is that worse?”

His breath seemed to catch, although she couldn’t think why—sympathy for her pain, maybe? He rocked her a little in his embrace. “That can’t possibly be it,” he whispered, breath warm against her hair. “You are an amazing human being, and you rescued him and fed him and loved him when he was alone. Chat will come back to you.”

She sniffled. “How can you know?”

He drew back enough to brush the backs of his hands tenderly over her cheeks. “I know,” he said, and the loving conviction in his voice made it sound like a promise. “One might say I’m paw-sitive.”

Marinette giggled despite herself.

♥

Hours later, after they’d parted ways, she spent some quiet time in her garden, investigating every leaf and stalk for health and happiness. Once she was satisfied, she brewed a big pot of tea and settled in for a work session. Alya, who needed to be at her desk to get into Work Mode, had invited Mari to work in her room with her, but Mari lasted about five minutes with the minimal floor space and keyboard clacking, so she thanked her roommate and returned to her own room. Turning up her music, she tried to focus on her project to block out the empty space where Adrien or Chat should have been. How had they both managed to interweave themselves so irreplaceably into her life?

The coffee maker sputtered in the kitchen, and the bitter aroma of espresso filtered through the open door—Alya was taking a brief caffeine break. Mari leaned back against her bed and held up her fan of reference photos, comparing a few different options she was sifting through for the next step.

“MARINETTE!” Alya shrieked from the front door later. “GIRL, GET OUT HERE!”

Dropping her photos, Marinette threw herself out the door and scrambled to see— _Chat Noir_ in her roommate’s arms, struggling halfheartedly to escape the tight snuggle. Her throat grew thick, and tears blurred her vision. _He was okay._

And he wanted to see her. The moment her tearfully ecstatic _“Chaton!”_ burst from her lips, his head snapped in her direction, ears pointed forward and pupils blown wide. With new fervor he pulled himself backwards out of Alya’s hold and hit the floor bolting to Marinette. His momentum carried him up her leg, and she caught him up and cuddled him tight. She buried her face in his fur, and he purred like a pickup truck as he kneaded her shoulders. _“Mon bébé.”_

“He definitely likes you better,” Alya complained with a good-natured grin. “Come on, I feed you too, kitty!”

Chat butted his head against the underside of Marinette’s chin for more petting. Scratching behind his ears, she took him back to her room for a good brushing…and beside the brush lay his collar, a week unworn. She fingered the satin and then clipped it around his neck. The little bell jingled when he moved, and his eyes slit with smug contentment.

That collar suited him so well—the color, the style. The simplicity. She cocked her head to the side, focusing more closely on the aesthetic. The cool, lowkey, classy black with a vibrant splash of green to remind the world not to overlook him. Not too far off from the original Chat Noir’s color scheme, actually. _And you knoooww_ , her designer’s brain whispered, _that color scheme would look good on a certain somebody else_ …

_Adrien._

So good.

“Does _mon minou_ want to go fabric shopping?” she asked, voice rising in pitch as an idea bloomed in her mind.

♥

Flicking his tail, Adrien watched in confusion from the floor as Marinette wriggled into an oversized sweatshirt. It reminded him of the one she kept in the art workroom, but with fewer Sharpie marks and scissor holes. In a familiar move she scooped him up and poured him into the big front pocket. He snuggled against her stomach and settled in for fabric shopping, or whatever had made her glow like that.

“I’m making a fabric run!” Marinette called to Alya, and then the front door opened and closed.

He felt the pressure and click of her buckling her seat belt, and the rumble of the car. When the rumble stopped, he poked his nose out, but she gently bumped him back into hiding. “No kitties allowed in here,” she whispered. Although it startled him to disobey a rule, he curled back up, smug that she wanted him around enough to sneak him in. Sadly, though, he couldn’t see what was going on—only hear the rustling of fabric as his friend pilfered the stock to find exactly what she wanted. She didn’t even need to talk to an employee, and nothing revealing was said when she paid for it all, so he made it all the way back to the apartment without knowing what she’d found.

She set him on the bed, pulled off the sweatshirt, and rolled out black fabric and green fabric. And, in a show of anarchy that almost unnerved rule-abiding Adrien, she just went for it. No pattern. She simply knew what she was doing.

Looking at the color choices, even with his feline vision flattening his color perception, he realized that she’d chosen _his_ colors. He sat up a little straighter, tail high with interest. What was she making for her kitty? Whatever it was, it was big.

He hopped down and sniffed around the edge of the black fabric. _Ooh, soft._ He eased down onto his stomach and began to rub his face against it, purring. Then, struck by genius, he rolled over to rub his whole body on it. _Sooo soft. I can’t wait for this to be done_.

But then Marinette picked him up and moved him a few feet away. “ _Minou_ , you can’t do that.”

Why would it matter if it was going to him in the end anyway? He promptly returned and, looking her right in the eye, flopped down square in the middle.

She pursed her lips and moved her again. “Chat Noir.” She moved him onto her lap and fenced him in with her elbows and knees. “I’m serious. This isn’t for you. Don’t make me put you outside.”

His ears flicked down to the sides, and his tail drooped. _Not for me? Those colors, though…_ Were they…just for anyone? He’d thought she associated them with him and his namesake, like he did. Apparently she just liked the color scheme. Added it to any project, any gift. Sulky, he wriggled and squeezed out of her lap so he could crawl under the bed and clean himself in peace.

She sighed. He heard it, and lashed his tail in offense. _Follow me. I’m distraught._ But instead she gave him a few minutes to pout while she snipped and sewed. Then she set the scissors down, and slim fingers pretended to crawl under the bedskirt, wiggling tantalizingly.

Moments later, he was back out in the light, play-fighting with her in delight. The tiny disappointment dissolved: he had no excuse to be jealous. He knew she cared for him, both sides of him, though she didn’t realize they were the same. It was good, healthy, that she had such a vibrant life outside of him. Her work and her friends and her family fleshed her out into a complete human being, and he couldn’t imagine ever trying to squelch that by keeping her all for himself.

When they met up the next day for coffee, she handed him a bag with a minimalist cat design. “This is for you,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

Perking up, he balanced it on one knee so he could brush aside the wrapping paper to find… a zippered black hoodie. His eyes widened.

“I know hoodies aren’t really your thing,” she said, “but this design is really comfy and the colors made me think of you. Besides, it’s going to get cold soon so I figured it might be nice to have an extra layer.” She shrugged, ever humble, but hope and affection shone from her, not nervousness. He loved her confidence, and her generosity.

She had given him a _gift_.

She had _thought_ of him.

“You have so much to do, though,” he worried. “You shouldn’t—”

“No, no,” she reassured him. “It’s a pretty simple pattern. It hardly took me any time—it was like a break, really. I just…” Here she blushed a little, though he couldn’t think why. “I like making these, and I wanted you to have one.”

He could practically feel the hearts in his eyes. _Thoughtful gift thoughtful gift thoughtful gift_ , purred the cat in him. Immediately he shrugged it on—glowing at the little green paw prints sewn on the front pockets—and he _knew_ that fabric. “It’s so soft!”

She looked him over with a designer’s eye. “I had to eyeball it since I didn’t have your exact measurements, but it looks like it fits. How does it feel?”

He zipped it up and happily shoved his hands in the pockets. Just the right length. Sooo soft. And so him. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much!”

Marinette beamed, rocking back on her heels. “You really like it?”

“I really like it. Is it machine-washable?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Glorious. “In that case,” he amended, “I _love_ it.” He stretched to test out its flex, and he found that not only did it stretch with him while retaining its shape, but it didn’t even bare his wrists or stomach. “Whoa, Mari, you nailed this. I can never find jackets this good.”

“Awesome. I’m so glad you love it.” She bounced a little, grin splitting her face. “I actually made it a little longer than usual, and I darted it in a tiny bit, since you’ve got, you know, the shoulders and long limbs thing going on.”

He laughed a little in confusion. “Shoulders and long limbs thing?”

“Oh, come on.” She struck a pose with one leg kicked out behind her and an arm held high over her head, wrist bent gracefully. “You know they go for days, Mister Model.”

His chest warmed at the compliment. But: “Shoulders, though?” He was too lean to have linebacker shoulders, and most days he was okay with it.

She drew her arm and leg back in before stepping close to him to put one hand on each side of his neck. Quiet and still pink-cheeked, she drew tender lines across his shoulders, down to his waist. His skin burned through his clothes where she touched him. Her fingertips stopped at his hips, and she couldn’t seem to look up at him. “Shoulders,” she agreed softly, sounding almost lost. “The wide, down to the, uh, narrow…The angle…there’s an angle.”

A _good_ angle, apparently. Adrien curled his fingers, trying to resist the impulse to purr, or to pet her, or both. To distract himself, he said, trying to be utterly casual and playful, “I wish I could make you a Ladybug hoodie in return, but I don’t have your unbelievable skills.”

The compliment seemed to distract her too. She gave a little laugh and swatted him. “You just want to match, you nerd.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“That would be kinda funny,” she admitted with a grin. Then, as the idea sank in: “I actually kind of want to do it now.”

An open grin. “Yes!”

“I don’t have time this week,” she told him sternly, or told herself. “It has to wait till the weekend.”

He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I guess so. You’re such a responsible adult.”

She shot him a dirty look. “Don’t you dare.”

Hehe, she knew exactly where he was going with this. He plowed right on ahead. “You have such good priorities. I wish I had your diligence.”

“No,” she ordered, pointing at him with one finger, but her lips twitched with a repressed smile.

“For _me,”_ he sighed, “I just wouldn’t be able to resist the call of more fabric shopping… finding the perfect shades and textures…”

“I’m not listening to this!”

“Not even needing a pattern, just going to town…”

“You’re the worst!”

“A break for probably not even an hour, and you get a cool, comfy hoodie out of it…”

Marinette groaned.

“A hoodie that would match mine… which is really the greatest part of the whole thing…”

She pretended to push him, and he pretended to stagger. “I’m gonna take your hoodie back if you’re gonna use it to tempt me into procrastination,” she threatened.

“It doesn’t count as procrastination if it’s on your to-do list already,” he reasoned.

“That’s false and you know it!”

But she showed up to their lunch date two days later with a red hoodie accented in black polka dots, and he didn’t stop grinning for the rest of the afternoon.


	12. Chapter 12

“You told her yet?” Nino’s offhand comment came out of nowhere during a dinner out.

“Told who?” Adrien looked down at his sushi, around at the staff. “The waitress?” He’d been thinking about ordering another roll, but he didn’t _think_ he’d said so out loud.

He gave him an odd look. “No, Marinette.”

“Why does Marinette need to know I want more sushi?”

“Bro,” Nino sighed, “this is why she doesn’t know you like her.”

Oh, they weren’t talking about food at all. Adrien shifted forward in his chair. “I told you. She’s my best friend,” he said earnestly.

Nino raised an eyebrow.

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Besides you, obviously,” he amended. “So it doesn’t matter how I feel about her. She doesn’t feel the same, and honestly, it’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it.” It disappointed him, sure, but not as much as losing her entirely. He would never make her miserable just to make himself feel better.

 _But_ , he realized, _there’s something else I need to tell her_. _And you._

He cleared his throat and fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “But, uh, hey. There was something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Nino pushed up his glasses with interest. “Go for it, man.”

With an inhale, Adrien gathered his courage. _Shifting is natural_ , he reminded himself. _And it’s not even that rare, really. Right?_ “So you know how I said I have a stray cat that sometimes comes by, or whatever?”

Two pieces of sushi went into Nino’s mouth, and he shrugged while he chewed. “Mm-hmm?”

 _Just get it out._ Embarrassment burned his cheeks as worry corroded his stomach. He’d always used the excuse of incompatible schedules to keep himself distant from the truth of why he’d let himself grow apart from his best friend: fear of rejection if Nino learned that Adrien had lied. “I may have… stretched the truth a bit. A lot.”

“Yeah?” Nino garbled.

“There’s no cat,” Adrien blurted before he could chicken out. “I mean, there is a cat, but not…a separate cat. It’s me. The cat is me.” He started to explain how he was still the same person, just in a different physical form, but Nino crunched the last bite, swallowed, and said—

“Oh. Yeah, I knew that. It’s cool that you trust me enough to tell me, though.”

Adrien choked. “What? You _knew?”_

Nino puffed out his cheeks and then blew out the breath. “Uh… yeahhh, one time I was walking home, and I saw you duck behind a bench and shift into a cat.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t even a solid bench. Like, there were big spaces between the slats of wood.” Adjusting his glasses, he joked, “Honestly, dude, you’re not super great at the whole ‘hiding’ concept. Anybody could have seen you.”

Adrien flicked a crumpled straw wrapper at him.  

Nino dodged it, snickering, before letting his smile fade. “I probably should have said something, but I figured if you hadn’t told me, you were probably sensitive about it. My bad.”

“No, I… When was that?”

“Two weeks ago, maybe?” He grimaced. “I also found, like, 90 toy mice under the couch when I vacuumed the week before that. Thought that was kinda weird.”

“I didn’t even know you vacuumed.” Also, he hadn’t known that was where they’d ended up. He’d batted them around until they all disappeared.

“Yeah, I vacuum.” Nino kicked at a table leg and sighed. “Honestly, other than right now and that day we got dinner with Alya and Marinette, I feel like we never really hang out anymore, y’know? Our rooms are three feet apart and we barely ever see each other. You didn’t even trust me about the cat thing until now. We’re out of sync and it’s lame.”

Leaning forward, Adrien bent his head to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, I noticed that too. But I’m in class during the day, and you work at night. Can we plan a… I don’t know, a standing weekly hangout time?”

Nino brightened. “Dude, yeah. That would be awesome. I don’t usually work on Sundays, would that work?”

“Yeah! Sunday evening?”

“Aw yeah.” He clicked his tongue and made finger guns, a casual motion that mirrored one of Alya’s easygoing habits.

It was sad, Adrien realized, that he had become more familiar with Marinette’s roommate than his own. Yet one more piece of proof that this decision was long overdue. He’d compromised complete closeness and openness for the safety of secrecy. And that was no longer an acceptable way to live.

♥

From her garden, Marinette heard the apartment’s front door open and a familiar warm male voice say hi to Alya, who told him, “She’s actually having some Garden Time at the moment. Give her a minute.” Then she raised her voice to a yell. “MARINETTE! ADRIEN’S HERE!”

Returning to her full height and throwing on a fresh outfit, Marinette pulled on her Ladybug hoodie… then shrugged it off and draped it over her shoulder. She wore it almost constantly, but today she wanted to see someone else wear it. She bumped her bedroom door open with her hip and found Adrien leaning against her doorjamb, wearing his Chat Noir hoodie, to her delight. He wore it most days now that the temperature had dropped, but it still sent a thrill through her to see that he liked her gift and got such good use out of it.

She reached out and tugged on his sleeve with a playful grin. “Trade.” Not a question.

His gaze flicked between his jacket and hers. “I won’t fit yours, Mari.”

“I made mine big, and I’m not that much shorter than you,” she pointed out. “It’ll fit. Off, off, off.”

“Whatever you say.” Adrien screwed up his face and shrugged as he tugged it off and traded it for hers. She slipped into his— _oh, I did good on this one, nice_ —and then watched as he pulled hers on. The sleeves were a tiny bit short on him, but she’d made hers long and roomy, so his broad shoulders filled it out and it didn’t ride up even when he stretched.

Also, he looked _fantastic_.

“Oh, I guess this actually doesn’t fit too bad. Cool.” After looking himself over in surprise, he glanced up to see how she looked, and his eyes widened and lips parted. A tiny noise escaped his throat; he seemed unable to manage a complete word.

Gratified, she fluffed her hair and struck a pose. “Not too bad?” she teased.

“Uh,” he said. “No.”

Leaning in, she tapped him on the nose. “You look pretty good yourself,” she purred.

He froze, a blush blooming on his face. Yet she knew he wasn’t truly upset—a lopsided silly smile belied his embarrassment. And her gaze stuck on that smile. In an instant she realized how close she’d brought them. Mere inches away, and she’d already covered him in her colors, claimed him. Claimed herself by donning _his_ colors. To close the space…

She leaned back, electricity burning under her skin and unable to suppress her playful smirk even as she doubted her own nerve. Adrien was her friend, her best friend, equaled only by Alya. They bumped and teased and flirted, but platonically. For her to want to step onto another path—no. She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t shatter the excellence they had together.

He didn’t want her that way.

♥

When Marinette turned to shoulder through the open door, Adrien struggled to close his mouth, eyes following her as if drawn by gravity. Not only did her confidence electrify him with awe, she was wearing that jacket. _His_ jacket—the one she’d made specifically as a gift for him, with the color scheme she associated with him in both human and cat form. His cat preened.

Since she had a bit of embroidering she needed to finish on a theatre costume, she rested with her back against the bed, and he sprawled in the middle of the floor, happy to take in the familiar room. Sun glittered on flecks in the air, warming his skin and the vibrant leaves of all her varied potted plants.

The little laminated labels that came with most plants had been removed, replaced with her own personalized designs. He rolled onto his stomach to read them for the thousandth time, the handwriting more precise and intentional than her normal excited scrawl. Though the stamped wood looked artistically worn and casual, he knew she’d put thought and effort into each one. Marinette lived and loved completely—she didn’t seem to be capable of anything else.

Such an odd collection, though. Dill, fennel, yarrow, tansy, angelica, scented geraniums, mint. Caraway, cilantro, coreopsis, cosmos, calendula. He couldn’t piece together any particular theme to the garden, even after a month and a half of trying to analyze it. So finally he gave up and asked, “Hey, Mari, can I ask you something?”

She looked up from her hand-stitching. He could have sworn he saw pink tinge her cheeks at the question—probably praying he didn’t ask her if she wanted to go out with him—but her inflection was perfectly steady when she said, “Yeah, go for it.”

He shook off the brief bout of disappointment at the reminder that, as much as he loved her, his emotions still overstepped his bounds. “What’s with your gardening choices?” he asked, waving a hand widely to encompass the strange selection. “Kind of an eclectic bunch, isn’t it?”

Blinking, she looked over her potted plants. She puffed out her cheeks and popped her lips, shaking her head a little with a shrug. “I don’t really know. I liked them.” Playing up the drama, she placed one hand over her heart. “They _called_ to me, Adrien.”

He laughed. “All right, all right.”

♥

With an irrepressible faint smile, Marinette stared at the way he let his head fall back and shoulders shake when he laughed, _really_ laughed, not the polite cough of a chuckle she’d seen him do in public. The sunshine that warmed her beloved plants gleamed gold in his perfect hair. What an amazing…friend. How much time had he spent looking through her leafy children for rhyme or reason?

And now that she actually thought about her planting process…it really didn’t have to do with aesthetic, or annuals vs. perennials, or anything cognitive at all. Certain plants drew her instinctively. Drew her on a deeper level than a design student, or blossoming artist, or…

Ah.

It wasn’t on a human level at all.

 _Should I tell him?_ she wondered—and then, because she had no qualms about trusting him: “Now that I think about it, I, uh, think I get why I liked those ones so much.”

His eyebrows popped up with interest. “Why?”

Marinette pulled a face as she pushed herself to her feet. “I think it’ll make more sense if I…show you.”

Adrien tilted his head to the side, eyes never leaving her.

She twirled one finger in his direction. “I need you to turn around, and _do not move_. _At all_. Until I tell you.”

Obediently he turned on his heel to face the wall. “Don’t move,” she repeated.

“I won’t.”

“No matter what happens.”

“I _promise_ ,” he reassured her, voice going low and smooth in a way that made her very, very glad he had his back to her.

“Okay.” She summoned her courage. “Okay.”

All of ten minutes ago she’d had her spots on—her skin still buzzed to do it again. She took a deep breath and peeled off her clothes—she liked this outfit and didn’t want to have to make a replacement. Before the air conditioning could chill her bare skin, she pulled her arms to her chest and let herself go.

Everything in her fluttered, rippled. Her skin seemed to crystallize and dissolve around her until she was nothing more than a speck in the air. Then the reforming, the atoms returning to create the new body she knew as well as her human form. When six tiny legs came to rest on the floor, she lifted two symmetrical elytra, unfurled her fragile true wings, and took to the air.

She could be a little clumsy when flying, since her wings stayed folded up under the red-and-black shell all the rest of the time, and she accidentally bumped into Adrien’s calf on her way up. He definitely felt it: he tensed a little at the tiny touch. True to his word, though, he didn’t move.

Finally she made it up to his shoulder—inches felt like miles with the size difference. She crawled along his shirt, up his collar, to jump up and bump lightly against his jaw once, twice. Then she flew lazily to the hand he’d rested on her dresser and landed lightly on his wrist.

She sat there and stared at him.

“Mari…Marinette?”

She buzzed into the air, made a tiny circle. His eyes almost went black—only the thinnest sliver of green visible around his pupil—as he watched her turn and land. She stared at him again. Waited.

“You’re a shifter too?” he asked, eyes wide and gaze never wavering.

 _Too?_ Startled by the unintended admission, she jumped into the air, then swerved across the room until she dropped onto her bed and crawled under the comforter. She shifted in a blink, skin rippling disintegrating reforming until she lay sprawled nude and human under her sheets. “Don’t move!” She leaned down to snatch up her clothes and yank them on, zipping up his jacket last. “Okay, you’re fine,” she rushed, and as soon as he turned: “What do you mean, ‘a shifter _too’?”_

He flushed, shoulders curving defensively in on himself. She forced herself to relax her tense posture and lower her voice. She knew he wasn’t intimidated by her, though, so why had he taken _this_ question personally?

“Please don’t…be upset,” he said lowly, worry in the eyes that had gone green once again.

She’d only just now gotten around to revealing her own shift; why would she judge him for waiting too? “Of course I’m not upset,” she said, the words gentle. “Will you show me?”

Taking a step back, he hugged himself. “Okay,” he whispered. “Turn around, please.”

She spun on her heel to face the wall, curious as to what he could possibly still be so worried about. It wasn’t as if she would judge him for having a dorky animal; after all, she turned into an _insect_. She’d been nervous, mostly because she hadn’t known he could shift himself, but now he knew she was a shifter as well. What was holding him back?

Clothes rustled on the floor behind her, and Adrien took a deep breath. “Don’t move,” he told her.

“I won’t.”

She waited, trying not to anticipate the animal she might see in a moment. And failing miserably. Would he be a bug too? Or a spider? Maybe that was why he had tried to avoid showing her—he thought she’d be scared or grossed out. What if he was something really big, like a bear? If so, she hoped he wouldn’t accidentally knock her plants over when he grew.

Then she felt a gentle nudge at her Achilles’ heel. Soft fur rubbed up against her skin. She looked down—and gasped.

_“Chat Noir?”_

At her yelp he skittered backwards, tail low at his flank, ears back, eyes wide with guilt. His attention even darted to the door, as if planning his escape route.

Marinette hadn’t meant to scare him more than he already was…but she didn’t know what to say. Chat Noir was Adrien? Adrien was Chat Noir? She’d thought the first time they’d met had been that morning at the bakery, but she realized now it had been the day before, with a red raincoat in the gray sheen of rain. She’d held him and fed him and petted him and teased him, and she’d released him back into the shadowy bushes. And he’d come back to her in both forms, over and over. Held her in her loneliest moments. Helped her stagger back to her feet.

He’d always come back.

 _“Mon minou,”_ she whispered, her voice cracking. Her knees bent, and she wanted to crouch but for her promise not to move. Instead she wiggled her fingers, hoping he’d venture near enough to stroke. “Cha—Adrien. It’s okay. I promise.”

Watchful, cautious, he took a step forward to sniff at her hand. When she didn’t jerk away, he rubbed his cheek against her knuckles. Permission to pet. She crouched to scoop him into her arms and nuzzled her nose in his fur, inhaling the smell that was inherently Chat—inherently her best friend. Knowing he had trusted her with this final truth, knowing him in both his forms, she only adored him more.

He squirmed to be put down, and when she set him on the floor he bolted back to his clothes. His fur glittered into stardust and dispersed; she looked away just in time to preserve his modesty. Fabric snapped with fervor, and then he was warm and solid at her side, his shirt on backwards and his jeans hiked up so fast one pocket had turned inside out. Lean arms pulled her in with surprising strength. He buried his face in her shoulder, and she turned her head just enough to touch her lips to bare skin. Selfish, maybe, but she wanted him to know she accepted every part of him.

Barely audible, he asked, “Is it really okay?”

“It was you,” she mumbled into the curve of his neck, her embrace tightening when he held her flush against him. “It’s always been you.”


	13. Chapter 13

Smoothing her last few tiny stitches, Marinette looked over her theatre commission with squinted eyes. It didn’t feel done, but then nothing ever did. Had she missed anything? She double-checked every detail, every seam. Once she’d confirmed nothing major was wrong with the piece, she slid the costume into a garment bag.

As she drove to the performing arts building, she mentally reviewed every measurement she’d taken, every swath of fabric she’d cut. She’d followed the instructions, right? This was what they’d said they wanted? What if it wasn’t, and they turned her down? What if she’d misunderstood the deadline and it had already passed? What if she never got a commission from the department again?

By the time she parked, her heart was pounding and she was breathing too fast. Trembling, she forced herself to breathe in for a count of four, hold it, breathe out, and hold again. Four, four, four, four. It took a few minutes, but her pulse and hands finally steadied, and she entered the building with the garment bag hanging over her arm.

The head of the theatre department and the play’s costumer were waiting for her as planned. They waved her over, and she stroked her project to reassure herself. “Hey, thanks for meeting me,” she said, “and thanks again for the commission—I really appreciate it.”

“You’re so welcome!” The costumer grinned, his hands in his pockets. “I saw some of your designs in the show earlier this year, and I loved them.”

This calmed Marinette into a genuine smile. “Thanks!”

“Do you mind showing us?” the theatre head asked, gesturing toward the garment bag.

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Though historical costuming wasn’t her area of expertise, she’d jumped at the challenge and reviewed the time period’s fashion trends, and now she awaited the client’s verdict. Gingerly she slipped off the outer cover to reveal the female lead’s dress for a production of _Cyrano de Bergerac_. Made specifically to the actress’s measurements, it would fit her perfectly; they had asked specifically for a deep blue, but she had taken the liberty of accenting it with gold so that it would gleam in the light and flatter her figure.

But would they like it?

“This is amazing!” The costumer reached out to touch the outfit. He held it up, examining the details she’d pored over for so long. “I love the gold. Now I wish I’d asked you to do Christian and Cyrano as well as Roxane.”

Marinette’s chest swelled with pride as she beamed. “Really?”

“ _Oh_ , yeah.” He handed the professor the dress, and she examined it too, eyebrows rising in pleased surprise.

“This is lovely, Marinette. Very nice work.”

Relief and delight thickened her throat until she thought she might cry. “Thank you.”

The costumer pulled out his phone. “Do you have any online payment options? The costuming budget is weird—it’s easiest if I can send you the money that way.”

Marinette actually had to think about it. Usually she just did cash. “I have a PayPal. Oh, and the Venmo app, if you have that.”

He tapped on the screen. “Okay, I can do PayPal. Shoot.” She gave him her email, and in only a moment he sent the commission money her way. The theatre head said her goodbyes and headed out; he lingered a moment longer. “You think I could recommend you for the next play too? I’ll be graduated by then, but I know the people in theatre would love to commission your stuff again.”

She assured him that she would most definitely love for him to recommend her, and when they parted ways, she booked it to class. Adrien met her in the design workroom as Chat, and she kept him snuggled in her sweatshirt until dinnertime. He bolted off to wherever he’d stashed his clothes and returned in human form (with his Chat hoodie!) to greet her with a hug. “How did your costume commission turn out? Did they like it?”

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she laughed in astonished delight. “The costumer said he’s going to recommend me for the next play!”

“That’s so awesome!” Adrien beamed and slapped her a double high-five. Without thinking about it she laced her fingers through his, letting their hands hang in casual, comfortable contact. She stayed smiling up at him, loving the way his eyes crinkled a little as he smiled back. He kissed her on the forehead— _platonic, platonic, platonic,_ she reminded herself even as the skin sizzled from his lips. “I’m so proud, you have no idea.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Throughout it all he had been her study partner, her cheerleader, her second pair of eyes, her muse. “I have some other commissions on the backburner, but I still have that stupid design project to run by my prof, so I’ll be sending that off in the next couple days.”

“Hey, don’t worry. You’ve got it.” He freed one hand to tug playfully at one pigtail. “I was wondering, though, why don’t you do an online store? Get a website or Etsy or something? Everything you make is gold, of course, but my hoodie you made me is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever owned.”

Her face scrunched in pleasure. “I’m glad.”

“Honestly, you could make more of those and sell them, make a little extra income, you know? And other stuff too, probably. Plus, it might help make your commissions a little more streamlined.” Then he struck an ultra-dramatic modeling pose. “You can even use my fame and ravishing good looks for modeling and advertising if you want.”

At that she laughed, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his chin. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“Okay, true. And I suppose you’re not the _worst_ -looking model I could manage, either, so maybe I _will_ hire you.”

“I accept payments in cash, card, and coffee.” Smiling, he pulled her in for another lingering hug, and she had to scrounge up every ounce of self-control she had not to press up on her toes and kiss him herself.

♥

The colors from the laptop flickered against the walls, against their skin. After dinner and a study session, they had decided to ring in the four-day weekend with a late-night movie marathon. His back resting against her headboard, Adrien blinked hard several times in quick succession to keep from drifting off. He had his arm around Marinette, and she too was nodding off despite her best efforts to stay awake. Her head sank inch by inch toward his shoulder, eyes unfocused and closing, only to snap back up when she realized what was happening.

“Mari,” he mumbled, “you should go to bed.”

A muffled whining groan.

In response, a conflicted noise rumbled in his own throat. He was unbelievably comfortable at this moment—sleepy-satisfied snuggling up with Marinette, warm and well pleased—and he hated to go home now. But neither of them knew what was happening in the movie anymore, and the longer he waited, the less he would want to rationalize leaving at all. She hadn’t invited him to stay the night, though, and he wouldn’t presume.

Hoping to help her give in, he closed Netflix and her laptop and combed his fingers through her loose hair. She nuzzled into the touch, which did absolutely nothing to steel his resolve to leave. He brushed his cheek against her forehead and purred. “Come on, it’s getting late. I need to get going.”

Eyes closed, she looped one arm around him and pulled him down. The moment his head hit the pillow, she shifted to rest flush against him, crooking her left leg over him and pressing her face into his chest. “Five minutes.”

He could have extricated himself from her embrace. He _should_ have. But he slid his arms around her and, though he knew he needed to stop kissing her, bent his head to touch his lips to her hair. _She wants me to stay._ He could deny her nothing. Five minutes to rest his eyes. Then he would go.

She exhaled in a sigh, and when she inhaled so did he. His breathing evened out, slowed to match hers. His limbs sank heavy onto the bed. He was _so_ tired. And she felt _so_ good, all snuggled up against him.

He let his eyes drift closed. The last fraction of tension left his body. He melted into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in years.

♥

Barely awake, eyes still shut, Marinette shivered. Where had her sheets fallen? She flopped her hand around, looking for them, but instead her palm spread over the warm, solid figure she was wrapped around. A familiar scent enveloped her, though her hardly conscious brain couldn’t yet place it. Her pillow rose and fell lightly in time with the slow breaths warming the top of her head. She let her fingertips curl into rumpled fabric…her sheets?

No, a shirt.

“M’nette?” mumbled the groggy voice of her best friend.

“Mmnnhh,” she complained, still refusing to open her eyes. He shifted as if to pull away, and she moved with him.

“Mmkay?”

“Mmmnnggg.” She burrowed deeper into his side, curling one arm against her chest and pulling him closer with the other. “Warm.”

He didn’t respond to this, possibly because he knew she was far too sleepy for multiple syllables, or because he himself was falling back to sleep. But he draped his arm around her shoulders and held her against him as she drifted back into her dreams.

Sunlight bright even through closed eyes, she woke when he did, mostly because she had spread to sprawl herself over him and he had begun wriggling. With a yawn she asked, “Sorry. Need up?” She tilted her head up and let it bob lazily toward him. He tilted his down toward her, cheeks pink and creased from sleep, eyes soft at half-mast, hair mussed in every direction. His lips had dried a little, and he had a hint of morning breath; she could taste it in her mouth too.

And yet… she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

She loved this look, him rumpled and sleepy and smiling like he belonged there with her—and it was all too easy to imagine waking up to this every day. A tangle of limbs, or two backs pressed together, or even just toes touching. She ached to take it for granted that he’d be the last thing she saw at night, and the first in the morning. She ached to snuggle together for reading or TV or homework without knowing in the back of their minds that he had to leave. She ached to brush their teeth side by side, to make the bed together, to argue about who would catch the spider, to merge their belongings without “yours” and “mine” boundaries.

Most pressingly, though, she ached to kiss him.

Her hand found the side of his neck; she scratched the sensitive skin under his earlobe the way he liked, and he purred. Her fingertips spanned the strong curve, and it was oh so tempting to pull him closer.

 _Kiss him. Right now. Kiss him_.

She grazed her thumb along his jaw. Watched his lips curve in that feline smile. Taking a deep breath, she skated her fingers over his skin and ran them through his miraculously soft hair… wet her lips…

And gently pushed him away.

“Here.” Turning her face away, she rolled off him and sat up so he could get up and use the bathroom. She pretended to fiddle with some papers on her nightstand so she didn’t have to look at him and remember what she’d almost done. Her eyes burned. As much as she wanted it, that kiss would have destroyed them both, destroyed everything.

He said nothing, but slid off the bed and padded out into the hall. Once the bathroom door had closed behind him with a click, she squeezed her eyes shut and let a few errant tears slip down her cheeks.

She couldn’t have him.

Not completely. Not the way she wanted.

He would never be hers in the way she wanted to be his, and it was time she learned to accept that. And as much as she loved being with him, she clearly couldn’t keep herself under control with him so close. He hadn’t done anything wrong; she was the problem.

So she needed to go.

♥

Flushed from sleep and Marinette’s casual perfect nearness, Adrien glared at his reflection in the mirror. “How. Dare. You,” he hissed, jabbing his finger at himself to emphasize every syllable. “She. Is. Your. Best. Friend.”

She’d been so close. So painfully, beautifully close. He could have tapped every freckle sprinkled across her nose. He had wanted to close the distance, especially with the tender way she had been petting him… but no. She had seen something she didn’t like, had pushed him away. She hadn’t _wanted_ him.

The anger at his own insolence faded to the familiar ache of knowing he had once again failed her, failed himself. He’d promised he would smother these feelings she would never reciprocate, and at the first test of honor, he’d poured gasoline on the spark that wouldn’t die. Waking up with her had been too much. He couldn’t let that happen again, for her sake.

When he brushed through the half-open door, she was packing clothes into a backpack. With her back to him, she picked up her Ladybug hoodie. He felt his shoulders soften at the reminder of their perfect pairing. She did love him, just not in the same way. They were bonded deeply, intertwined in each other’s hearts. It would work out fine; it would.

She held the jacket out in front of her, looked it over. He waited for her to fold it and place it in the pack as well, or to shrug it on. He loved to see it on her, almost as much as he loved to see his Chat Noir jacket on her.

Marinette’s petite hands fisted in the fabric, and after a moment, she pitched her Ladybug hoodie across the room. The hood caught on the corner of her dresser, and the jacket swung upward before coming loose and drifting down into a pile of laundry she hadn’t picked up since the day she’d rescued him from the rain.

Adrien’s heart rose thick in his throat.

_Oh no. Oh no. What have I done?_

He backed up, planning to pretend he’d been in the bathroom all along, but his foot caught the door on the way out, and it moved just enough to creak on his hinges. Cringing, he froze.

“Adrien?”

Slowly he turned on his heel to face her.

Her eyes and cheeks were a little pink, and she hugged herself. “I think I’m going to go to Paris for the long weekend. Visit my parents, see how my dad is doing, you know.”

“Oh.” He tried not to look at her discarded hoodie, tried not to care. “Uh, yeah. That’ll… that’ll be good.”

Her gaze skated away, and her jaw clenched in pain. “Yeah.”

He’d ruined it. He hadn’t even done anything, and he’d ruined it. “Okay.” His breath shuddered as he tried to gather his composure. Years of modeling helped him ease his expression into the neutrality he couldn’t feel. “Are they expecting you?”

She shook her head. “I just… think I need to go be somewhere else for a little while,” she said—and he heard a quaver in her voice, just for a moment.

 _I did this._ He gentled his voice, erasing any hint of blame. “It’s okay,” he said. “I get it.”

And he did.

So he watched her walk out the door, and he said nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

Adrien hung over the back of the couch, limbs splayed on each side, head hanging low. A low, pathetic noise mewled from his throat.

“Dude,” said Nino, “stop with the mopey cat thing. You aren’t even a cat right now.”

“I’m not moping,” said Adrien, moping. “I screwed up. I made her run away.”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Nino leaned back in his desk chair, temporarily pausing his remix work on the laptop to talk sense into his roommate. “You didn’t _make_ her do anything. She did what she did. Dude, you didn’t even kiss her.”

“She could tell,” Adrien insisted sadly. “She knew I wanted to kiss her, and she was so disgusted she fled to Paris to get away from me.”

“Or maybe she wanted to go see her _dad_ , who’s getting over the _flu_.”

The front door opened, and Adrien lifted his head to see who had dropped by, since he hadn’t heard of any plans today. Alya strolled in, laptop bag slung over her shoulder and orange-ombre curls bouncing with every step. “Ayyy, how’s it going?”

“Hey!” Nino held up an arm, and she slapped him a high-five before bending down for a kiss. Their glasses clinked together, but neither seemed bothered. “Good to see you.”

“Figured I’d grace you with my presence for a few hours.” She leaned against the edge of his desk and saluted lazily to Adrien. “You melt there?”

Before he could respond, Nino rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Yeah, melted into his melodramatic depths of despair.”

“I will never recover,” Adrien said solemnly.

“Does this have something to do with Mari running off to Paris out of nowhere?”

Nino smacked her playfully on the rear. “I love how smart you are.”

Grinning, she pushed his head away. “Flattery will get you everywhere, but we both know you only like me for my computer skills.”

“I will admit, it’s a major factor in your favor.” He cocked his head toward Adrien. “But yeah, he’s moping over sending Marinette ‘fleeing’ back to her parents.”

“I’m _not moping!”_ Adrien repeated.

“He’s moping,” Nino told Alya. “He thinks Marinette hates him now because—”

 _“Nino!”_ If she knew how Adrien felt, he would never be allowed to darken their doorstep again. He couldn’t take that. And he hadn’t yet told her that he was Chat Noir, which would undoubtedly be one more strike against him.

“Because reasons,” Nino finished lamely. “Did Marinette say anything to you?”

She shook her head. “She just ran out the door, said she would text me later. She had some crazy eyes.”

Adrien groaned and dropped his face flat onto the couch. How had he ruined this so badly? He’d known he should have backed off, should have put some distance between them so he could simmer down and snuff the unrequited feelings before he did something irreversible. Now he’d lost her.

♥

Marinette leaned over her dad’s bed, giving him a watery smile. “Hey, Dad. How’re you feeling?”

Her father was propped up on his pillow, looking a little less vibrant than usual with shadows under his eyes, but he beamed at her. “Good to see you, Mari. I’m fine, just recuperating is all.”

Her mom laid a hand on her hand. “He’s honestly fine, sweetie. We’re thrilled to have you visit, but you really didn’t have to come just to check up on him.”

Marinette tried to wave this off, even as her chest clenched with the reminder of why she’d really bolted back to Paris. “I’d been meaning to come home for a little while anyway. And I’ve been worried sick, so it’s good to see for myself that he’s getting better.” She leaned down to press a kiss to her dad’s cheek and then followed her mom out of the room. The bakery was closed, so they found themselves in her room. Marinette sat cross-legged in the center of her old comforter, the same one she’d had in high school—so long ago now. She could still picture all the shenanigans she had gotten up to in this very room, with the ultimate purpose of getting Adrien to notice her, and now she was here for the exact opposite. How could she possibly remain so close to him without revealing that she thought of him as so much more than just a friend?

“So,” Sabine prompted gently, “what’s the real reason you showed up on such short reason?”

Marinette looked up, surprised although she probably shouldn’t have been. Her mother knew her better than she herself did. “What—what? I wanted to say hi, I told you.”

“Yes, and you said hi.” Her mother patted her on the knee. “Now tell me what’s going on. You’re upset about something.”

Breath caught in her throat, Marinette blinked away the burning in her eyes, but the tears slipped out anyway. She sank onto her side to rest her head in her mother’s lap and sobbed out the whole story—meeting up with Adrien again, befriending him as a cat first and then as a human, realizing they had become best friends, realizing she wanted more. The temptation to kiss him. “I can’t ruin it for us,” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t do that to him.”

Ever a comforting presence, Sabine ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “Has he told you he doesn’t want that too?”

Marinette sniffled. “Well… no. Not in so many words. But I can _tell_.”

“ _Ma cherie_ , if he’s a smart boy, he sees in you what I do—a smart, talented, generous, loving young woman. If he doesn’t like you, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t like me,” she admitted. “He _likes_ me—we’re best friends. But I want to be more, and he doesn’t. But I can’t not have him, so I need to be okay with just being friends, but it’s hard.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know it is.” A tender hand brushed across her cheek. “But I think you need to talk to him. Communication is the key to a healthy relationship. Besides, if you ask me, it sounds to me like he likes you too.”

“This isn’t something talking will fix, _Maman_ ,” she sighed.

“How do you think your father and I got together, hmm?” Sabine asked with a smile. “By running away when we realized we wanted to be more than friends?”

Marinette pouted her lower lip. “No.”

“Well, then.” Her mother tapped her on the nose. “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, but I think you should consider it.”

♥

When Nino went to the kitchen to scrounge for food, Alya strolled over the the couch and bent down to Adrien’s eye level. “Hey, buddy. Want to talk about it?”

 “I can’t.” He considered Alya a friend in her own right, not simply as Marinette’s roommate, but he didn’t know her as well as he knew Mari or Nino. He turned his head away from her.

“Two points—one, I already know Nino knows, and I can get him to tell me anything.”

Squinting, he considered this before deciding, “No, we’re best friends, and if I tell him not to tell, he won’t.”

“Two,” she continued pointedly, “you remember I make a living in _journalism_ , right? You really wanna make me dig for this?”

He huffed. “No.”  He would not come out on top if he tried to hide what had happened. She loved Marinette, and she was too stubborn to back off, especially if her friend might have been hurt.

“Smart. So talk. What made Mari flee the scene this morning?”

He shifted his body weight so he could glare at her—after the Almost Kiss Disaster his cat had taken control, and the cat did not like this conversation. “We fell asleep together. We woke up together. Nothing happened.”

She crossed her arms and waited.

“You can’t say anything to her about it, but I…” The words stuck to his tongue. Nino had picked up on Adrien’s affection for Mari right away, so Adrien hadn’t really had to explain it. All the teasing, the support, the challenges, the commiseration—he hadn’t had to _say_ why she mattered so much to him. “I love her,” he whispered. “So much.”

♥

Holding a warm, melty chocolate-chip cookie in her mouth, Marinette snapped a few photos of her design mockups, attached them in an email to her prof, and sent it off into the technological void. With the long weekend, she probably wouldn’t receive a reply until Tuesday or later, but she might get lucky. The new design felt more decisive to her, more confident, but she still wanted to get approval before putting more time, energy, and material costs into it.

She and her mother went for a walk to soak up the sunshine, discussing classes and the bakery and everything but the feelings she couldn’t reveal to Adrien. She needed to let her mother’s advice marinate for a while.

 ** _Mari_** _-nate,_ she thought with a tiny smile. _Adrien would have been all over that one_.

Sigh.

When they returned, she played the newest Ultimate Mecha Strike with her dad, both playfully aggressive, until the three of them gathered for dinner. She was glad to see his hearty appetite was returning, and her parents bantered and touched like they had for as long as she could remember. _He really is improving_ , she realized in a moment of relief.

Watching them tease each other with warmth in their eyes, though, she realized anew that her mother and father were each other’s best friends. Each would be complete on their own, but together they had joy and companionship, and they helped each other be the best they could be.

And she wanted that.

But how could she have it?

♥

Alya stared at Adrien, who looked desolate at his confession. She felt bad for the guy…but she had been _right_ , dammit. She had _known this all along_. Oh, _yes_. She tried not to smile in case he thought she was laughing at him. “Did you tell her you love her?”

“No!” he cried. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’re a terrible person, there’s no way she could possibly ever consider loving you, what a betrayal of trust, et cetera, et cetera. I got it.” Unswayed after the melodrama she’d handled from Marinette in high school, she rested her weight on her hip. “So if you didn’t tell her and you didn’t do anything, what happened?”

A little of the fight faded from his eyes. “We were so close,” he admitted, “and we had been cuddling, and she was petting my hair and my neck… I wanted to kiss her. Really wanted to. And for a second I thought she did too—but then she stiffened up and she pushed me away. And when I came back from the bathroom she was packing to leave, even though she’d been planning to stick around this weekend.”

“So…you think she’s a mind-reader?”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

“I don’t appreciate you and Mari both being oblivious and melodramatic, but we get what we get.”

Adrien glanced toward the kitchen, and she followed his gaze—Nino hadn’t returned yet. Either he was making the world’s most complex sandwich, or he was giving them their space until the inquisition had ended. Smart guy. Then the words visibly sank in. “Wait, what? Why would Mari be oblivious and melodramatic?”

She gave him a dry stare. “Let’s take a wild guess, shall we.”

He sighed. “I told you, she doesn’t feel that way.”

Her eyes widened and she had to look up at the ceiling for a few seconds before she could continue. _These two deserve each other._ She adored them both, but they could both show up to a planned coffee date looking exactly the same but with _glasses_ on, and they wouldn’t recognize each other. Why did she always have to take care of these things herself? After taking a couple deep breaths, she said, “So you love her but you’ve already convinced yourself it’s unrequited. You have fun with that.” And she went into the kitchen to talk to Nino, the only one of her three closest friends who wasn’t being utterly ridiculous these days.

♥

When her phone buzzed on the coffee table, anxiety jump-started Marinette’s pulse. Had Alya texted her, asking why she had run off in such a rush? Or _Adrien?_ How could she explain the rush of emotion that had sent her running to the safety of her parents’ home?

Bracing herself, she peeked at the notification—but exhaled in relief. Not a text. An email, from her _professor_. She all but jammed her finger through her phone in her haste to bypass the lock screen. With a deep breath she rapped her knuckles on the wooden table for luck and then opened the reply. How would her draft be received this time?

The message was brief, probably in part because (by some miracle) the prof had sent it during a long weekend: _Yes, that’s much better. Do that._

It took a moment for the success to settle into Marinette’s chest. She’d done it. Creating the idea for the draft was the worst of it—she had everything labeled, measurements and fabrics and details, so now all she had to do was create the physical final product. Still plenty of work to do, of course, but her professor’s approval dissolved the anxiety that she would put all that work into a failure of a design.

Without thought she brought up her messaging app and tapped on her conversation with Adrien—then froze staring at her screen. Her knee-jerk response had been to contact him, to let him know her project would be all right, to hear him cheer with her and for her. And she knew that, despite her frenzied exit, he would have done so without hesitation.

Not to mention that he had been there for her every step along the way. Without his support and advice and encouragement in both his forms, she would have struggled under stress and anxiety and overworking herself to reach this point. Adrien made her art better, made her _life_ better.

And she _loved_ him.

As if somehow sensing the told-you-so moment, Alya’s contact photo popped up and the phone sang out the theme song. With a grimace, Marinette accepted the call.

“Girl!” Alya exclaimed before Mari could even get out the word _hi_. “What happened this morning? And I thought we were doing lunch tomorrow—will you be back for that?”

“I don’t know.” Marinette turned her head to look out the window as if avoiding digital eye contact. “Things are… complicated right now.”

“Elaborate please?” The prompting tone of her voice seemed almost expectant. They told each other everything, so it wasn’t all that odd. Marinette’s hesitation _was_ , though. “Don’t make me drive all the way to Paris just to wring it out of you. ’Cause I will.”

She winced. “No, I just… it’s… Agh. I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?” Alya sounded way too bright.

“I love Adrien!” Marinette blurted. “I want to be with him, but he thinks we’re just friends, and I can’t ruin it!”

A stifled delighted shriek before the calmer, more logical reply: “How do you know he wants to be just friends? Have you _asked_ him?”

“I don’t have to. He’s made it clear.”

“Again, how? Did he say the words _please don’t kiss me I just want to be friends_?”

 _No, but **I** did, and he agreed_. “Basically, yeah.”

Alya groaned. “Really? We’re playing he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not?”

“Since he loves me not,” said Marinette, “not really.”

“I think I _will_ drive to Paris, just so I can strangle you and your romantic pessimism.”

“You should. We’re having crepes for breakfast tomorrow morning, and if you strangle me, you might get my share.”

“Don’t test me. And, Mari. Anything else to say?”

She heaved a huge, inconvenienced sigh. “You were right.”

“Yes, I was,” Alya agreed smugly.

♥

Headphones in, Alya nodded along to her music while typing up an article for work in her favorite café. A few days had passed since Adrien and Marinette had individually admitted their feelings for each other—a few days that had been driving her up the _wall_ , as neither would accept her pointed suggestion that the other might not feel as platonic as they thought.

Well, Alya had never been good at letting a friend sit by and pass up the opportunity to win their love interest.

“Hey, what’s up?” Nino pulled out the chair across from her and sat, setting his computer bag on the table. “I only have half an hour before I gotta get to work, so I don’t have a lot of time.”

She pulled out her earbuds and shut her laptop. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep you that long.”

“Shoot, then.” He gestured easily for her to go ahead.

She leaned in, and he mirrored the movement. “Listen,” she said, “our friends are both pretty smart people.”

“Yeah.”

She made a face. “But their detective skills could use some work.”

Nino barked out a surprised laugh that made a few other patrons look their way. “Yeah,” he agreed, suppressed laughter making his voice vibrate, “I would say so.”

Alya grinned. “So my thought is… we gotta help them a little. Or they’re going to go their whole lives writing each other sappy sonnets and then insisting the other one only wants to be friends.”

He exhaled. “I’m with you. I caught Adrien writing a poem about her once. Super cheesy stuff, too.”

“Mari borrowed his jacket once and didn’t take it off for two days until I made her wash it.”

“Once I mentioned that her belt was a weird color, and he wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.”

Alya extended one hand across the table. “So we’re doing this?”

He took it. “We’re doing this.”

They did their secret handshake to seal the deal: they were going to get Adrien and Marinette to admit their love for each other, or they would die trying.


	15. Chapter 15

When Marinette asked a photography student for a favor, Alya hadn’t expected her roommate to make things quite so easy for her.

“I want to get some pictures of the jackets I’ve made,” Mari explained. “Right now that’s just the Ladybug and Chat ones, but they should be enough to show the general idea and some variations.”

She and the photographer nailed down some of the details while Alya lounged on the couch, sipping a fresh cup of coffee. Waiting.

“I’ll just model them myself,” said Marinette, and Alya lowered the mug from her lips with a fox-clever smirk.

“Don’t you dare,” she called over her shoulder oh so casually. “You told me Adrien offered to model for you. Take advantage of the boy’s face.”

In high school, such a suggestion would have merited a high-pitched squeak and babbling. Now Marinette only sucked in a deep breath and pretended she wasn’t blushing. “Adrien has a test coming up. I don’t want to distract him.”

“You act like he’s never modeled before. It probably won’t even take that long.”

“I don’t have any cash right now.”

“Yeah, well, off the top of my head I can think of a couple other ways that you could pay him,” Alya suggested in her sexiest voice, “and he would absolutely—”

 _“Alya!”_ Truly flustered now, Marinette apologized to the photographer, who didn’t seem to care much either way. “Fine, I’ll ask him. Just…” She shot her roommate a wide-eyed _keep your mouth shut_ look. Alya raised her mug as if to toast her and turned back around with a smug grin.

As she’d hoped, Adrien walked in the door twenty minutes later, and he and Mari watched each other with the same look of despondent adoration for a beat too long before he introduced himself to the photographer. He was already wearing his Chat Noir jacket, so he turned in a practiced, prolonged pivot to provide the complete view.

When it became clear Marinette planned to pretend to pick lint off her sleeve the entire time, Alya set her mug aside with a sigh and pushed herself to her feet. Lazily she made her way over, and she casually ruffled Adrien’s hair. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Hey, Alya,” he said with a smile even as he ducked out of reach. He tried to smooth his hair back into submission, but it only looked worse—and it visibly bothered Marinette. She pursed her lips, apparently trying to resist temptation, but finally she gave in.

“Come here,” she said, although she went to him. Pointedly not looking him in the eye, she reached up to run her fingers through the golden mess… and her stiff posture softened. His eyes half-closed at the tender touch. She finger-combed him a few times more than was strictly necessary before remembering where she was, and she skittered backwards. Though they both looked a little shaken, Alya decided to call it a win.

She followed them outside as they started the casual photo shoot, but out of generosity, she left them alone. Right up until the photographer waved for them to stand together and they left a foot of space between them. “Nuh-uh,” she muttered, downing the last of her caffeine. “Not on my watch.”

The photographer had just raised the camera when she waved for a time-out. “You guys hurt my eyes,” she insisted as she stalked over. “You look like you hate each other.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes.

Alya ignored her. “You need to stand closer. Act like you’re friends.”

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Marinette and Adrien slid closer to each other. With the photographer taking a back seat to the terror that was Matchmaker Alya, she moved in for the kill… and physically wrapped Adrien’s arm around Marinette, curving his hand over her hip. “Oh yeah,” Alya pretended to muse, tapping a finger on her mouth, “that’s way better.” When Marinette made a protesting noise, Alya overrode her: “You’re not just selling the product. You’re selling yourself. Your image. I’m no business student, but even I know that people want to buy things that people look comfortable and happy in.”

Marinette deflated. “I guess you’re right.” Then she spun to check with Adrien. “I mean, if you’re okay with it?”

Alya noticed that he hadn’t taken his hand off her. “I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it,” he reassured her, though there was a blush on his cheekbones that had nothing to do with makeup.  When Marinette nodded, he leaned in closer, his body melting up against her the way it did when they were just hanging out, _being_ together. Smiling, she half-turned her face so that her cheek brushed against his shoulder. She slunk her arm around his waist too, and the photographer went to town. They leaned against the building, goofed off at a playground, sipped to-go cups of coffee, nibbled on pastries from the Mais Oui bakery. They switched hoodies, chasing each other and laughing.

They did everything they would have done anyways, and they just let the camera tag along.

And as Alya peered over their shoulders to get a look at the photos, she had to suppress a big ol’ sappy sigh. They each wore such a glow of adoration for the other. No doubt about it, those modeling photos would sell Mari’s merch: she might as well advertise that she was selling homemade true love. It was gorgeous—and it was just going to turn into another “no _he’s_ just acting” “no _she’s_ just acting” debate.

“You’re so photogenic,” Marinette complimented Adrien, who shrugged.

“I was raised in front of the cameras,” he pointed out warmly. “You look even better, and it’s all natural.”

Blushing, Mari bumped him with her shoulder, and he surprised her into a laugh by bumping his elbow into her side in retaliation.

The photographer leaned back to shoot Alya a longsuffering look. She rolled her eyes, understanding the sentiment perfectly.

 _These two beautiful morons are going to need everything I can throw at them_.

♥

 “I made you a road trip CD,” Alya said brightly, handing the cheap case to her roommate.

Marinette glanced at the simple words _for Marinette_ Sharpied onto the disc. “It’s not really a road trip. We’re just going out for the day.”

“Still—it counts.” Alya tapped it with one nail. “Be sure to play it. The whole thing. Today.”

This was a trick. Marinette had figured out that much, at least. Yet she knew she’d feel bad if she _didn’t_ play it or, worse, gave it back. A gift was a gift, especially coming from her best friend. “Fine. But only because I love you.”

Alya clicked her tongue and, with a wink, shot her a finger gun. “Love you too, girl.”

When she got in the car with Adrien, she explained with a sigh _why exactly_ they were going to listen to a CD that was, in all probability, stuffed full of sappy love songs. He didn’t blame her for it. “Better to get it out of the way now,” he joked, sliding it into the player.

“I figure we can skip over the really embarrassing songs and it still counts, right?”

He looked out his window. “Sounds purr-fect.” Though he seemed to still be joking, something in his tone sounded off, and she couldn’t see enough of his expression to pin it down. She attributed it to her own paranoia and tried to brush it off.

The first song on the CD surprised them both: a popular song by big-name rocker Jagged Stone. Not romantic in the least. They sang along, playfully head-banging along with the heavy beat of drums and electric guitar.

Next came the Miraculous Ladybug theme song, and because they were both nerds they shouted every word at the top of their lungs. Marinette laughed at Adrien’s falsetto, and he teased her back until she deepened her own voice as low as it could go.

Now lulled into a false sense of security, they howled along with the next song until—with the flowery pre-chorus—they realized too late that it was a love song. Stuttering into uncertain silence, Marinette skated a glance his way. He was looking back with the same worry.

She tried to laugh it off. “I warned us.”

“It’s just a song, right?”

“Right. We can sing along if we want to.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“We’re just two friends singing along to a road trip CD.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Determined not to let her secret love for Adrien make this awkward, she boldly burst back into the song for the second verse, which was somehow even sappier than the chorus. _Your arms, your eyes, are my home._ She forced herself not to think about how true it had become. He only wanted to be best friends. She could be best friends. In an effort to double-bluff her way out of revealing herself, though, she looked over to stare deep into his eyes and reach one hand out as if to caress his face. His eyebrows jumped in surprise at first, but then he eased into a laugh, and he _joined_ her.

Even though they were both being silly, ridiculous, it was almost more than she could handle, to see Adrien singing about his love for her. He was goofing off about it of course, but something in his eyes almost seemed serious, begging her to listen, to understand.

Without meaning to, she slipped from silly to tender. She brushed her fingers through his hair, nails lingering along the shell of his ear the way he liked, and his eyes closed with a purr. He leaned into the touch, just a little, just enough, as if unable to resist.

 _Oh man,_ she realized with a heavy heart, _he is way too good at this_.

Her voice quieted to sing along with the next line— _I need you to be mine_ —and she pulled back so she wouldn’t do anything stupid. When he glanced her way with a questioning look, she pulled a face as if to say, _isn’t this hilarious? Isn’t Alya just too much sometimes? What a silly idea!_

He made the same face back at her. And if his eyes didn’t match his smile, well, she told herself he was just waiting for her to return to karaoke.

♥

“Why?” Adrien lay face-down on the floor, voice world-weary, as Alya watched from her desk. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Helping you?” Based on his summary of the road trip, her mix had accomplished its intended purpose of making them lowkey tell each other they liked each other.

“You call this help? I’m _dying_. I’d hate to see you actively _hurt_ someone’s chances.”

She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. What a lack of faith. “You want to argue me on this? One of us lives with her. The other one of us lies on top of his couch and moans about how he’s destined to be alone forever.”

This ruffled his fur. “You came in at a bad time that day—”

“I came in at exactly the right time to know how bad you’ve got it. And you should be grateful I like you enough to help you out.”

He grumbled, but he didn’t protest anymore, so she considered that acceptance. She leaned back in her chair, tapping a pen on the armrest pensively. “She has Chat over, or she did earlier. Have you met him yet? If you cuddle him, it’ll win you a billion points.”

“That could be a little difficult.”

“I know you’re not allergic. He half lives in her room, there’s gotta be cat fur everywhere.”

 “I’m not allergic.”

“Then cuddle the damn cat, Adrien. He doesn’t bite.”

He lifted his head up and heaved a sigh. “I’m telling you, I can’t cuddle Chat.” His lips twitched into a smile. “Although I bet he _is_ the softest, cutest, sweetest cat in the world.”

Alya threw her hands in the air. “So what’s the problem?” She knew he liked cats, and Mari loved Chat, so he had no reason _not_ to follow her advice. She hadn’t steered him wrong yet, no matter how embarrassed he got.

“I’m trying to tell you.” Propping his chin on his fist, he pressed his lips together. “I can’t cuddle Chat because I _am_ Chat. I’m a shifter.”

Alya felt her eyes grow wide. Not about the shifting—she really couldn’t care less about that. But just to make sure: “Mari knows?”

“Yeah. So does Nino. He wanted to tell you, but I made him promise not to say anything until I told you myself. I figured it’s better to hear this sort of news from the source.”

“Oh, okay, yeah.”

He watched her carefully. “Are you okay with it? I know it seems a little creepy at first, but—”

“No, I don’t care about that.” Her mind whirred, throwing together the new puzzle pieces that gave her an altogether better idea of the big picture. “So you’ve been around since that first time she brought you home? And you kept coming back?”

Adrien nodded.

Cats didn’t return to just anyone, especially if they had a human consciousness behind the cute kitty face. And if he’d met her as a cat, he would have known where to find her again—so that day she’d come home surprised about running into Adrien at the bakery, it hadn’t been a surprise to him. He’d looked for her, searched her out. And he’d kept coming back to her as a human too. Not to mention all those stupidly cat-like behaviors of his that suddenly _made perfect sense, that moron_. Of course he draped himself over Marinette and knocked things over for attention and batted at her pigtails and lay on her laundry. In cat terms, that was ultimate affection.

Adrien was _stupid_ in love with Mari, in every way possible. Had been for ages. And it would appear that so far he had only feline methods of expressing it.

Well, then.

Things just got a little more interesting.


	16. Chapter 16

Arms folded over her chest, Alya leaned against Marinette’s doorjamb and tapped her knuckles against the wood. With a jump Marinette looked up from her work on the floor. “What?”

“I just heard about Adrien being Chat.” Alya half-swung from the doorway to the bedpost, then lowered herself to sit beside Mari. “That’s kinda cool, you both being shifters. Plus, y’know, it’s _yet_ _another_ piece of evidence that he’s totally smitten with you.”

She crinkled her nose. “Not sure I follow your logic for that one.”

Alya rolled her eyes heavenward and prayed for patience. _Why do I have to explain everything with diagrams and fifteen examples from the text?_ Yet she had to admit it would be oh so satisfying when they… eventually… figured out their feelings were mutual. So she persevered. “First of all, don’t even pretend like you don’t know he kept showing up because he liked you.”

“No, yeah, I get that.”

She reached over, picked up Chat’s green collar, and dangled it from her index finger. “And what, he’s secretly into some collar kink?”

Though Marinette snorted as if she didn’t care, her flush betrayed her. “Not as far as I know.”

“So why do you think he wears this every time he’s in kitty form?”

She shifted. “I bought it for him before I knew. He probably doesn’t want me to feel bad.”

Alya shot her a look. “Can I suggest another option?”

“No—”

“A, you gave it to him like that hoodie, and he likes that you think of him. B, that collar makes Chat—and, by continuing to wear it, Adrien—yours. _Adrien wants to be yours.”_

♥

 _Mine?_ Marinette’s breath caught at the thought. She’d spent so long wishing, dreaming of having that claim on him, and of him wanting her to be his as well. Switching jackets had given her a taste of it. And now… now she was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be able to smother the aching desire. “That’s not fair, Alya. You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Girl, I’ll say as much as I want until it gets through to you!” Alya knocked the heel of her hand lightly against Mari’s forehead. “He has been throwing signals at you from day one. You gotta go get him!”

Marinette pushed Alya to her feet and out the door. “I know you just want me to be happy, but this isn’t the way to do it. I’m trying to move on, and you should too.” At the protesting noises, she continued in a loud rush, “I need to get back to work, get me when dinner’s ready, bye!”

Foolishly she had hoped that might be the beginning of the end.

When Adrien and Nino came over the next night, the four of them all piled onto the couch to watch a movie, with Adrien and Alya on the ends. Adjusting her bowl of popcorn, Marinette glanced over in time to see Alya nudge Nino—and then with a fake cough he sprawled, suddenly taking up half the couch. He would have had a leg in her lap if she hadn’t scooted up into Adrien’s side. Though her _chaton_ didn’t seem to mind—and she loved the feel of him—she kicked at Nino’s knee. “Hey, Man Spread. Move over.”

“I just got comfortable,” he complained.

Alya’s eyes gleamed in a way Marinette didn’t trust at all. “Here, babe, you move over, and I’ll sit next to Mari. She and I can snuggle that way.”

That wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Nino dragged himself to the outside so he could throw his arm over the edge of the couch, and Alya relocated to the middle, settling to lean against Marinette with her legs on Nino’s stomach. She too was taking up just a little more space than she needed to. When Marinette squinted at her with suspicion, she only batted her eyelashes innocently.

After the first fifteen minutes, Alya yawned and, with it, stretched her arms enough to push Marinette. Mari shifted away to avoid the hands, and she bumped into Adrien’s arm draped over the back of the couch—now draped over _her_.

Alya conveniently left her arms extended so Mari couldn’t move back.

He had assured her many times that she was not in fact “squishing him” when she lay on him. So she let herself lean into him, her back against his chest. Took a deep breath, let it out slowly until she’d softened against him. When he ran his fingers through her hair, she closed her eyes with a satisfied sigh.

 Halfway through, Nino insisted on a bathroom break, so Alya paused the movie and went to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. _Half_ -caf, she insisted, as if that were the reasonable thing to do at ten o’clock at night. Marinette could have—should have—moved back to her old position in the middle of the couch now that it had opened back up, but Adrien made for a warm pillow, and he still had that arm around her. _If I move now, it’ll seem like I don’t like being so close, and I don’t want to offend him,_ she reasoned.

So she reasoned herself into half-turning toward him, snuggling into his side until she was almost in his lap. For a moment she thought she heard his breathing stutter, but that must have been wishful thinking: she knew he didn’t care, wouldn’t read into it. After all, they’d agreed they were best friends. Best friends cuddled. She hadn’t assumed that his arm-draping and casual closeness meant anything other than that, so by extension, he wouldn’t assume she meant anything either. Right?

When Alya returned with her refilled mug, though, she clearly disagreed. She passed by just as Mari turned her face up to ask Adrien something, and she bumped into him, pushing his torso forward. Pushing his _face_ forward, until his nose glanced against hers and she felt his breath on her skin. Without thinking she reached out to brace herself—but instead of finding the back of the couch, her hand curved over his shoulder. Not pulling him in, maybe, but not pushing him away. Holding him there, in front of her. His lips parted, and she wet her own, hoping for what she’d told herself could never happen.

His skin warmed her, his fingers still on her back. She would never ask the universe for anything else if she could just have this one thing, to know what his lips felt like on hers. To feel him kissing her as if he’d never wanted anyone else. To take him and be taken, to be wrapped up in each other alone for a moment.

_Please kiss me. **Please.**_

But the desperation pounding in her chest reminded her that he wasn’t hers to take. No matter what Alya thought, he wasn’t hers. Would never be. So, heart weeping, she leaned back, let him escape the situation without needing to be rude. She couldn’t look at him, though. Blindly she brushed her fingers through his hair. “Sorry about that,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “Alya, come on, look where you’re going. You practically decapitated him.”

No acknowledgement of what might have happened. It would be easier for them both that way. She couldn’t admit she’d hoped for something he’d never wanted.

Nino called out that the bathroom was available, and the couch cushion shifted with the change in weight as Adrien stood. Marinette stubbornly pretended to fix her hair before, when the door closed behind him, making the excuse that she needed to find more comfortable clothes.

“You two are doing this to yourselves,” Alya muttered when she threw herself back onto the couch.

Maybe so, but Marinette fled with the knowledge that she’d protected Adrien from herself.

♥

“What do I have to do to get these morons to kiss?” Alya demanded of the ceiling. “Hold them at gunpoint?”

Nino had rummaged through the kitchen and now came to sit beside her with a pile of snacks. “I was gone for _five minutes_. What happened this time?”

She recapped her artful attempt to get them close enough to give in. “They were going to. I could tell. And then Marinette got her I’m Gonna Sacrifice Myself For The Greater Good look, and she backed off and pretended like nothing had happened. So of course he wasn’t going to push it.”

“That sucks.”

That wasn’t the end of it, though. Alya had invested herself in this, and she did nothing halfheartedly. Marinette had proved herself useless in initiating—she _actively_ turned Adrien down. He, on the other hand, might still help himself. Time to change the person she was nudging. And her boyfriend could help her with that. “Listen,” she told him, “Adrien told me about the shifting thing.”

“Oh, yeah.” Nino eyed the multi-layer dip he was digging a tortilla chip into.

“He has it _bad_. Worse than I realized.” She took Nino by the chin and looked straight into his eyes. “I need you to get me that poem he wrote about her.” Not that she planned to give it to Marinette. That would be unethical. No, she only needed a point of reference.

He balked. “I don’t know where it is.”

“Well, then, _find it.”_

Something in her murderous stare must have driven him to obey. Two days later, under the table he passed her a sheet of paper, once crumpled, now folded into fourths. She didn’t open it until she was safe in her bedroom, and then she groaned at the back of her throat. It was, indeed, as sappy as Nino had warned her.

 _‘Your hair is dark as night, your pretty bluebell eyes’_? Gee. How subtle. Who could this be about. She just didn’t know.

 _‘Every day we see each other and I hope that you'll be mine’_? What a surprise. Wow. Who’d have thought it.

 _‘Together our love could be so true’_? No, he didn’t love her at all. Just two buddies being pals.

Those two were beyond ridiculous. But now, even after the failed kiss, she suspected that Adrien could be swayed to make the first move—she just had to give him a little push. If it were herself, a little sexy suggestiveness would do the trick, but Marinette was asexual and she suspected Adrien was demi, if not ace as well, so she had to stick to romance only.

So she called up Nino, and they got to work.

♥

“Hey, dude,” Nino said oh so casually the next day, “look what Alya found in her kitchen.”

Adrien looked up from his architecture textbook. “What is it? Cookies?”

“Nah. Come see this.” Nino waved a sheet of paper, and Adrien cocked his head before giving in. He took it and found… a typed poem. In Marinette’s favorite typeface. _What?_

He read it over once, then twice, looking at Nino and repeating, “‘Your hair shines like the sun, your eyes are gorgeous green’?”

His roommate shrugged. “I mean, I’m not saying it sounds like you, but it kinda sounds like you.”

Brow furrowed, Adrien glanced back at the paper. “‘Together for eternity, my heart belongs to you’?”

Nino raised his hands, palms up. “Whatever that means. Girls are so mysterious.”

“I…” It was impossible. So flowery and romantic like his own attempts to put his feelings on paper—but Marinette wasn’t into poetry. She wouldn’t have written something like this, much less typed it out and left it out for Alya to find. 

Hang on. It _was_ impossible.

Giving Nino a flat look, he handed the paper back. “Tell Alya to leave well enough alone.”

“Dammit,” Nino muttered. “I thought it was a good one, too.”

This took Adrien a moment to process. “Wait. You knew?”

Nino grimaced. “You guys are oblivious. You need a neon sign to tell you that you like each other. So yeah.”

With a huff, Adrien pushed himself to his feet. While he wasn’t truly upset—his friends were only doing what they thought was best, after all—he was a little frustrated that they couldn’t accept the state of things the way he had.

Even if the state of things had clenched painfully in his chest at the shattered hope that Marinette might have loved him back.

♥

With a playful chirp, Adrien—Chat—leapt after the ladybug buzzing in the air above him. He landed on all fours, tail lashing. Marinette dropped onto a marigold and jumped up and down a little so that her tiny weight shook the flower, her Garden Time adaptation of laughter. Delighted to play with him like this, she took to the air again and led him across the room, swerving left and right to throw him off. He skittered a little trying to keep up, at one point colliding with her dresser, but then he vaulted off the wall and almost snatched her right out of the air.

She bolted to the side, and he thumped onto the desk. When she landed on a mint leaf, his pupils dilated and his ears pricked forward, alert and attentive. She turned a little, pretending not to notice him, so he stretched out a paw to hop silently onto the windowsill behind her potted plants. Scuttling a bit so his motion-sensitive eyes could see her easily, she waited for his shadow silhouette to fall over her… and then she threw herself into the air just before he jumped for her.

But the crash that followed startled her—she turned to see her Chat all poofed up, back arched and eyes wide, beside a shattered clay pot and an explosion of soil. Her orange marigolds lay on their side, freshly uprooted. Looking guiltily back and forth between the mess and her, he flipped backward and darted into the closet. He emerged a moment later, pulling on the spare set of clothes he’d cached. “I’m sorry, Mari, I didn’t mean to—”

She flew close to his face, and when he didn’t swat her away, she landed right on the tip of his nose. The pot was replaceable; she kept extras for exactly this reason. And the marigolds would be a little stressed, sure, but they would bounce back. The worst thing about the misstep was the horrified look in Adrien’s eyes. He was so worried for her, for her plant children, and he didn’t need to be.

Lifting herself into the air, she curved around to bump her hard outer wings against the underside of his jaw a few times. She hoped he would recognize the reassurance. Then she landed on his shoulder and waited for him to walk her over to her bed.

Once he sat, she crawled under the covers to crystallize and reform in her human body. After shrugging on the sundress she’d hung on her bedpost, she reached out and grazed her fingertips along his forearms. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s happened to me too. It’s fine. Here, we’ll repot it and everything will be okay.”

  Since he still looked like he was contemplating fleeing the scene, she pulled him in for a hug. A quick one. If she was going to ignore the fact that she loved him, she needed to not put herself in situations that made her want to tell him.

But when he packed up to head out for the day, she presented him with a gift she’d been meaning to give him for a while: a small plastic pot filled with fresh soil and a small sprig of mint. “I want you to have this little baby,” she said with a tentative smile, “if you want it. The plastic won’t break if you knock it over, and plants thrive on benign neglect anyway. Water it maybe once a week and it’ll be happy.”

“Oh.” He took it, though hesitantly. “You really want me to? I might kill it by accident.”

“You didn’t kill that other plant, and you won’t kill this one. And come on, that was the first time you’ve ever knocked any of them over, and you’ve been playing in my garden since your first day here. You aren’t exactly a walking demolition crew.” He had an innate grace about him, really, and she could watch him for hours—not that she could say so without sounding weird. And she definitely couldn’t tell him the exact reason she wanted to share her garden with him.

She wanted him to have a piece of her with him at home. Another Chat Noir hoodie, for all intents and purposes.

She wanted him to see it, to smell it, to touch it, and to think of her.

She wanted him to, if he couldn’t love her, love the gift she’d given him.

“I like to share my plants with my friends,” she halfway admitted, “and you’re my _best_ friend.”

Though she hadn’t intended to guilt trip him, his cheeks pinked and he stared at the mint. Just before she took it back and apologized, he gave her a shy smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Smiling, she touched a hand to his cheek, and she turned away before she followed with her lips.

♥

Letting himself in the apartment door, Adrien first noticed the music. Some pop love song was blaring from Alya’s room. Not even a subtle one. The entire chorus was just some guy crooning _I love you I love you I loooove you_.

“Marinette?” he called over the noise, and her bedroom door opened a crack. He headed that way and closed the door behind him again to muffle the music.

She grinned up at him from her laptop. “Guess who’s putting together her Etsy shop?”

“Hey, awesome!” He slapped her a double high-five. “Is that why Alya’s got her personal soundtrack so loud? Celebration?”

Mari rolled her eyes. “No. She’s…” She trailed off and blew a raspberry. “I dunno.”

The song cut off abruptly, only to be replaced by another love song, this one slower and cheesier but still loud enough for them to make out every word. Adrien suspected he knew why Alya was suddenly _very determined_ to share her suddenly _very specific_ musical taste, but he wouldn’t admit that now. If _she_ hadn’t shared her matchmaking intentions with Mari, then _he_ certainly wouldn’t. No need to bring _that_ up.

“So are you just putting up the hoodies for now, or other stuff too?” It wasn’t his subtlest subject change ever, but it worked. She showed him the photos of them she’d chosen, and some photos of past commissions she’d be willing to repeat. He offered advice based on his personal experience with modeling and advertising as well as the big points he was learning in cross-cultural design. At some point during the discussion, Alya switched to a best-friends-to-lovers song, which made Marinette blush and avert her eyes.

He didn’t point out her response, didn’t question it. He knew she would couch it in the kindest possible terms, but he still didn’t think he could handle hearing again how much she _didn’t_ want to date him.

Once she’d gotten to a good stopping point on Etsy, she lay down on the floor with her legs stretched across his lap, and they transitioned into the comfortable silence of doing homework together. Alya had apparently found a friends-to-lovers playlist, though. Despite his discomfort at the terrifying accuracy of some of the songs, he pretended not to notice the music, and so did Mari. The genre didn’t let up until he walked out the door hours later.

♥

Those stupid songs had only reminded Marinette, painfully, of what she could never have. Adrien had been clearly embarrassed by the unsolicited soundtrack to their study session. For the briefest moment, she’d considered saying something. Considered asking him if, maybe, in some universe, it might happen. But then she’d remembered herself.

Adrien’s comfort was the priority. His needs, not her wants.

“What are you doing?” she begged her roommate after he’d left. “I’m trying to be good, and you’re making it hard!”

Alya tipped an invisible top hat. “You’re welcome.”

♥

 _I can’t frost cookies to save my life,_ Alya had said.

 _You guys do it, I’ll stay in here with Nino_ , Alya had said.

So now Adrien and Marinette stood at his kitchen counter, bent over baking sheets—she spread perfect, smooth white frosting on each cookie, and he followed up by dumping rainbow sprinkles all over them. No matter how many times she poked at him and “suggested” relevant rules of bakery presentation, he continued to revel in his chaos. Once or twice he intentionally made shapes with the decorations, a lopsided heart or a sloppy X, just to bother her. Her reactions never disappointed.

“You _pinch_ the sprinkles,” she explained in a huff, “and disperse them _evenly_ across the surface. With the right amount of white space so it doesn’t feel cluttered.”

Without breaking eye contact he promptly removed the lid, poured a big pile of sprinkles into his palm, and then flipped his hand over right on top of the fresh frosting. They scattered into an uneven pile, with a few extras bouncing off to stick onto other cookies.

Her jaw dropped, even though she really shouldn’t have been surprised at him being contrary. Cat’s nature and all. _“Adrien!”_

“They’re going into our stomachs,” he pointed out, with an impish grin he couldn’t hide, “ _tonight_. Why does it matter what they look like?”

“It’s the principle!” she half-shouted at him, but when she threw her hands in the air she swiped a lick of frosting across her cheekbone, and as he laughed he found he couldn’t ignore the little dollop. Still wearing the mischievous smile, he reached out to catch up the white on his fingertip. For a moment he considered licking it off himself, or suggesting she open her mouth and stick out her tongue, but he didn’t know how well she’d take that. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. So instead he swiped the frosting across the bridge of her nose and onto her chin.

He’d expected more playful shrieking, but her eyes widened and she surprised him: she dunked her own finger into the container or frosting and drew a quick line down his cheek. He gasped, pretended to fall to his knees. “No…my Lady… _betrayed_ me…”

Then he darted for the frosting container. She barely managed to jerk it out of reach in time, and he found himself pressed up against her, straining to grab it from her hand, but she’d arched her arm at such an angle that he was swiping at air. He was flush against her, and rather than pushing him away, she got a dangerous glint in her eye and used the curve of her hip to block him a little better. He pulled at her arm and found her surprisingly strong. She resisted with ease, even having the audacity to shoot him a feline-smug grin not unlike his own.

“Unfair!” he complained.

In response, she dipped the index finger of her free hand into the frosting and then booped him on the nose with it. He crossed his eyes to stare at the little swoop of white. “All’s fair in baking and war, kitty cat,” she told him lowly.

That voice… Almost a purr, it sounded like a dare, a challenge. And Adrien, ever a cat, could never turn one down. No longer trying to grab the whole container, he stretched to swirl one finger into the frosting, and then he drew back. And, in a moment of bravery, he traced a line of frosting along her lower lip.

“ _All’s_ fair?” he ventured, low voice in a lazy lilt.

Suddenly still, Marinette stared back at him, breath audibly catching. Her tongue darted out, licking up a little of the frosting, but she missed a dab, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. His hands grazing her hips, he leaned in.

“There’s still a little…” He trailed off in a low sigh, and he reached up to cup her cheek. Her eyes closed, and he bent his head…

“Hey, are the cookies done?” Nino asked from the doorway.

Adrien and Marinette jerked apart. Adrenaline from the surprise jumped up his pulse, and he felt like a startled cat again, arched back and puffy fur and all. She averted her eyes and swiped the back of her hand over her lip, wiping away the remaining bit of frosting. Nino just leaned against the doorjamb, eyebrows high as he waited for the answer.

“Nino!” Alya shouted from the couch. “You said you were going to the bathroom!”

“I want a cookie!” he shouted back.

She muttered something that sounded like “Amateur.”

Grumpy and trying not to show it, Adrien swiped a cooled cookie from the sheet and all but threw it at Nino. “There.”

He immediately shoved half of it into his mouth. “Thanks, man,” he garbled as he headed for the bathroom.

Adrien glared at his back. The Moment—with a capital M, as close as he’d been to kissing her—had passed. Another almost-kiss. This one even more almost-y than the first.

Yet, he realize belatedly, she had looked okay with it.

Maybe, just maybe, Alya wasn’t pulling his leg after all.

♥

Hefting in a big bag of fresh supplies, Marinette almost didn’t see the little present by her door. She slung her stash onto the bed and then crouched to pick up the little shimmery red gift bag, small enough to fit in her palm, tied together at the top with a neat black ribbon. Picking it up and walking it to her desk, she beamed—it glittered in the sun.

Rather than cut such pretty ribbon, she used her nails to carefully tug the bow out of its knot, then let the top fall open. No wrapping paper. Just a folded slip of paper and something small cushioned with bubble wrap. She pulled out the gift itself first, peeling away the tape so that the bubble wrap fell away on its own. Into her palm tumbled a matching pair of earrings. She gasped in delight. Little ladybugs, red and black gems outlined in silver wire. Exactly her brand of classy-cute.

Surprised and not a little curious, she unfolded the note gingerly as if it might self-destruct before she could read it.

 

_My Lady,_

_I can’t tell you enough how amazing you are. You mean everything to me. You’re my best friend, and anything you want from me, I’ll give you. You already have my heart—everything else is secondary anyway._

_I saw these and thought of you. If you like them, I hope you’ll wear them and think of me too._

_Yours,_

_Adrien_

Her fingertips touched her lips as she stared, reading the words over and over again. And one in particular.

_Yours._

Belief stuttered between hope and suspicion. She recognized his handwriting, the neat curves of each precise letter. Besides, he was the only one who called her _my Lady_. And it wasn’t that Adrien never gushed. He waxed poetic without even thinking about it. Once when she mentioned someone had stood her up for coffee, he ranted for 15 solid minutes about how she was such a delight, they didn’t deserve her, he was going to fight them—in his words, she was a princess and princesses didn’t get stood up for coffee. Though she’d eventually soothed him down, for the rest of the day she had carried around the hum of warm energy that he cared enough to be offended on her behalf. And he’d called her a princess. She didn’t hear that often.

 _Ever_ , really.

Because of who he was, though, she knew he’d meant it.

But this note, and these gorgeous earrings, out of nowhere? Right in the middle of Alya waging war to get them together? Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence.

It had to be Alya.

This had to stop—she’d gone too far this time. Note and earrings still in hand, Marinette bumped her door open with her hip and stomped over to Alya’s room. Her roommate sat glaring at her screen, jabbing a single word into her keyboard only to delete it.

“Hey,” Marinette snapped.

Alya glanced up and with relief spun away from her work. “Hey, how do you feel about a leftovers buffet for dinner? This paper’s killing me.”

“Seriously, I’ve had enough.”

Alya screwed up her face in confusion. “We haven’t had leftovers in a while. I didn’t realize you were so opposed.”

How could she act so blasé? Marinette all but threw the note at her. “No, I mean this and you know it. Adrien and I are _not getting together_ , and you need to let it go!”

“I don’t…” Shooting her a weird look, Alya cautiously unfolded the note. She read it… and then her eyes widened and with a gasp she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my _God.”_

“Oh, right, like you’ve never seen this before,” Marinette huffed, all but shoving the earrings under her roommate’s nose as well. “I don’t know how you did his handwriting so well, but this is _not cool_ , Alya. You for real went too far this time.”

“Oh my God,” Alya breathed again, still staring at the words.

Marinette planted her hands on her hips. “It’s not that unbelievable that I figured it out. He and I don’t write each other notes like that. We’re not that sappy, and and that one’s practically a proposal.”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Finally ripping her gaze away from the paper, Alya reached out and flapped her free hand at Marinette, glowing with joy. “Mari, I had nothing to do with this.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure you—”

“No, look at this!” Alya held up the note and tapped aggressively on that too-familiar print. “I couldn’t write like this if I tried! He has typeface handwriting!”

At this Marinette paused, her indignation deflating with confusion. “So you, what, had Nino do it?”

Alya snorted. “Girl, have you _seen_ that boy’s chicken scratch?”

“But…” No way. It couldn’t be.

Flapping the paper in the air, Alya beamed. “I’ve never seen this before, and I didn’t buy you that jewelry either. Nino and I had nothing to do with this.”

Unable to form an actual word, Marinette stared. Those words. Those earrings. They couldn’t possibly have come from Adrien.

Could they?

She darted her gaze to her roommate, who was fanning herself in an imitation of tears, and whispered, “Are you serious?”

“That is one hundred percent him, girl.” Alya pointed toward the door. “And if you don’t go find him in the next five seconds, I will personally set you on fire to burn the stupid out of you.”

Wide-eyed at both the revelation and the threat, Marinette thrust out a hand to snatch the note back and then almost ran into the wall in her haste. She grabbed her jacket without stopping as she sprinted out the door.

“I knew he could do it!” Alya cheered. “Woo! Go get ’im, Mari!”

♥

Leaning against Mais Oui bakery, Adrien finished off his third domino cookie and purred. So delicious. They’d always been his favorite anyway, and now the polka-dot pattern of the white chips on chocolate reminded him of his favorite person too. Win-win.

His closed umbrella swinging from his wrist, he dusted the crumbs off his hands and straightened. The sky had been clouding up all day, and the cat in him complained, recognizing the imminent storm. He needed to get home before the downpour.

Pulling his hood over his head, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed back up the sidewalk—and groaned at the first cold drop that landed on his nose. “What did I do to deserve this?” he sighed as he pulled the loop off his wrist and popped up the black umbrella. Sure, it shielded most of him, but his shoes and the bottoms of his pants were dampening, and he still had a ways to walk.        

He glanced at the bank as he approached, more out of habit than anything. Despite how much he hated being caught in storms, he had exactly that to thank for where he was now. Only a few months ago, he’d been lonely and lost, and now he not only had his amazing Marinette, but Alya as well (however much matchmaking she insisted on doing), and he and Nino had finally addressed and closed the distance growing between them. Adrien had opened himself up, made himself vulnerable in sharing his secrets, and sheltered others’ vulnerabilities in return. And even though he knew all of them would grow and change with time, he knew they would have each other’s backs through everything.

For the first time in his life, the future didn’t frighten him.

Through the gray sheen, he saw a flutter of red on the steps. Watching for more, he approached, climbed the steps even as he winced at his pants getting wetter from the change in angle. He found a figure hiding behind a column, turned away from him—but he knew that hoodie.

“Marinette?”

She jumped in surprise, then turned in what felt like slow motion. “Adrien. I was looking for you, actually. I thought you might still be at the bakery, but then the rain…” She gestured upward and made swooshing noises.

He chuckled. “Seems a little familiar, doesn’t it? How the turns have tabled.”

At that she smiled. “I don’t think I’ll fit in your jacket.”

“Won’t know until you try,” he deadpanned, starting to unzip it, and she laughed at him. He grinned back and dropped the zipper, and then he held out the umbrella. “Here. Take this.”

Without coming any closer she took it—and then it snapped shut on her, flinging raindrops at him. Stunned at the unexpected movement and chill, he froze, until she wrestled the umbrella up enough to peek out at him. He tried to hold in the laughter, but he cracked up, and despite herself she giggled too. He helped her struggle out to freedom, and then he locked it in the Open position and set it aside. “Sweet freedom.”

Her smile softened as she looked at him. “I found your note, and the earrings. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.”

The reminder of that particular vulnerability made his heart jump into his throat. Had she read the note? Had she understood what he meant, how thoroughly he meant it? He struggled to string words together. “I’m glad you liked them. They made me think of you.”

“That was what you said in the note.” After a moment, she ducked her head. “Did you…Did you mean it? What you wrote?”

“Yeah, I did.” Since he couldn’t be sure how well it had gone over, he added with embarrassment, “I’ve never had any friends like you—all of this is still kind of new to me.”

She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands—she folded her arms over her chest, then let them drop loose, rubbed one forearm, laced her fingers together. But when she finally managed to meet his eyes, her gaze held a glimmer of her usual confidence. “You’re new to me too.”

That wasn’t rejection—wasn’t her bolting away as soon as things looked too intimate. He took in a deep breath. _Here we go_. He wanted her, needed her, as his mate and partner for as long as she’d have him. She made him his fullest, most complete self, and he wanted to do the same for her. If he never told her, she’d never know, and he would have no one to blame but himself.

“I love you.” Adrien didn’t touch her or try to pressure her in any way. Either she felt the same or she didn’t, and this conversation wouldn’t change that. But his voice deepened with the force of the truth behind the words. “I’ve seen you at some pretty rough times, and at some pretty great times. And I’m so glad I could be there for you for it all. But I want more than that.”

She’d crossed her arms again, and now her fingers dug into her skin.

He tried not to think about what that might mean. He had to get this all out in the open now, before he lost his nerve. “I hate having to plan the time we spend together—having to leave every night. I want to be the first person you see in the morning, and the last person you see at night. I want to be there for you every day, for the good and the bad and the ugly.

“There’s no one else I’d rather have at my side than you. It’s so easy, and we fit so well. When I’m with you, I don’t have to be anyone other than who I am, but at the same time you make me want to be better.” His legs jittered beneath him with anxious energy. He couldn’t look at her anymore, couldn’t take the visuals without knowing what was going on in her head. So he tilted his head up and spoke to the awning, the rain still spattering and dripping as background music.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I mean, not every second, it’s not like we don’t have any other friends—” The words came stumbling out. “—but I want you to be the one I come home to, and the one I go out with. My default, I guess? That sounds bad. This sounded better when I was saying it to my mirror.”

She made a noise that might or might not have been choked laughter.

His lip twitched with a nervous smile. “But for us to be there for each other, physically and emotionally and every other way you can think of—that sounds amazing to me. I’m not saying I want to elope right this second,” he continued, brow furrowed as he tried to spit out every thought he’d had as he planned this confession, “or even move in together if that would be too fast. But if you want it, I’d like to date you. Officially.”

A tiny intake of air came from her direction.

He didn’t let himself look. “If you don’t love me, I’ll survive. I’ll be okay with being best friends, because that’s who you are to me regardless. One word from you and I’ll never bring it up again.” He took a deep breath, trying to quell the trembling in his legs. “But if by some miracle you do love me, tell me now. Please.”

Finally he lowered his gaze to look Marinette in the eye. “I love you,” he repeated, because that seemed like the most important part to get across. “I just want to know if that’s something you can live with. If I’m some _one_ you could live with.”

Flushing, she ducked her head and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her shoulders trembled, but he couldn’t see her face anymore. Was she crying? Was the idea of being with him that appalling? He took an uncertain step back—

And then Marinette flung herself into his arms and buried her face in his neck. Yes, she was crying; the tears dampened his skin and soaked through the thin fabric of his shirt where the jacket didn’t cover it. He held her, still confused. And it almost felt like she was _laughing_ now, though the sounds were difficult to decipher. “Mari?”

Still laughing-crying, she pulled back with bright, wet eyes and tear-tracked cheeks and a huge smile, and she cradled his face in her hands. “Yes, Adrien, yes, of course.”

His brain short-circuited. “Yes?”

“Yes, I love you.” She pulled him in and pressed her mouth to his. The tang of salt tinted the taste of her, the smell, but it was still her. He knew her.

Unable to do much else, he traced his hands up her body to cup the back of her head, to hold her against him. He ran his fingers through her hair, grazing her scalp, and sighed her name. She had come to him. She knew him inside and out, and she _wanted_ him.

Though a romantic at heart, she didn’t respond with the flowery language that came so easily to him. He didn’t expect her to. But she allowed no doubts as to the intensity of her returned feelings. “I love you.” Another quick kiss. “I love you.” And another. “I love you so much.”

Grinning, he pulled back to pepper her face with tiny silly kisses, and she giggled.

 _Finally_ , he thought, but he must have accidentally said it aloud: she nodded and whispered, “Finally.” And then she kissed him again.


	17. Epilogue

**Ten months later**

Sitting on the floor of his room— _their_ room now—Marinette barely jumped at the clatter of pencils on the floor. “I told you, I need to finish this outline.”

A pitiful yowl came from the pile of blankets on the bed. When she glanced back, a black paw reached out to knock a remote off the bedframe.

“Chat. Behave.”

He poked his head up just enough to give her the Big, Sad Kitty Eyes, and she groaned as she lifted herself to her feet and collapsed onto the bed beside him. “Fine,” she muttered fondly as she scratched him behind the ears and down his back. Nuzzling her hand, he purred like a truck engine. “You’re such a problem. I’m going to kick you out.”

He squinted his eyes and treated her to the smug cat smile that he’d perfected. So self-satisfied. He knew she couldn’t resist him.

Ah well. She’d come to terms with it.

She and Alya had moved in with the boys when the apartment lease had run out a few months earlier, and there was enough room in the house to be around each other for so long without stepping on tails, literally or figuratively. Other than the odd day where someone needed extra space, they’d stumbled upon a rare gift: four people that could live in the same space without growing to hate each other. In fact, the daily intimacy of the living situation had actually brought them even closer together. More than once in the last week, two of them had said the exact same thing at the exact same time, and then made the exact same face in response.

“Yoooo,” Nino called from his and Alya’s room. “Are we going or what?”

The purring _chaton_ perked up.

“Five minutes,” Marinette yelled back. All four of them were going out for sushi, at Adrien’s request—more because he craved raw fish than because he had such cultured taste. He shifted under her comforter and took the clothes she tossed at him.

“Thanks,” he said, the word muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I’m so hungry.”

“I just fed you.”

“Shifting burns thousands of calories,” he lied with a grin.

She rolled her eyes and tapped him on the nose. “Maybe fifty calories on a good day. Put your pants on, or they’ll leave without us.”

Playfully he snagged her hand out of the air and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Here I was hoping to try out a skirt, but pants it is. What my Lady wants, she gets.” He then pressed another light kiss to the ring on her finger—the silver engagement band that matched his own. “Including me.”

Her chest warmed at the reminder. “Well, I might not want you anymore if you make us miss dinner,” she teased. “Let’s _go.”_

♥

Leaning against Nino’s doorjamb, Adrien gave his best friend a small smile. “Thanks for going to the _fiançailles_. It meant a lot to me.”

Nino walked over and clapped him on the back. “I was happy to, dude. We’re family.”

That was closer to the truth than most people realized. When last month Adrien had been encouraged to bring his family to meet Marinette’s for the engagement party weekend, he had frozen—his father was no longer in his life, and his mother was long gone. He hadn’t had his parents in a long time, and he’d never been close with his other relatives. Who would he bring, _Nathalie?_

But then his roommate had shouted something about the mouse toys scattered around the hall, and Adrien had realized exactly who had become his family.

So Nino had gone with him to Paris, and he’d brought Alya with him of course, for both his sake and Marinette’s. Adrien had been overwhelmed by the love and affection the Dupain-Chengs had surrounded him with, but he also knew who had been for so many years his brother in all but blood, so he’d introduced Nino around as such.

It had meant so much to Adrien that, paradoxically, it had taken him a while to actually thank Nino for it.

“So you gonna wear the ring now that you did the official family party to declare your honorable intentions?” Nino joked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m wearing it.” Adrien held up his left hand. “It’s been almost two weeks.”

“I’m gonna be completely honest,” Nino admitted, “I didn’t notice it. My bad.”

“It’s not like I put up a neon sign.” Adrien certainly couldn’t judge anyone else for being unobservant—not after the drawn-out angst-fest that was him and Marinette convincing themselves the other one didn’t love them back. Besides, the silver band gleamed in bright light but otherwise didn’t draw much attention to itself, just the way he liked it.

“It’s kinda weird that you have an engagement ring at all. You know that, right?”

Adrien shrugged. “I guess, yeah. But it seems regressive to have just Marinette claimed, like she’s a piece of property. Plus, this way we match.”

Nino laughed. “You do you, man. You do you.”

♥

“Look at you!” Alya peered over Marinette’s shoulder and beamed at the new Etsy orders listed on the smartphone screen. “They obviously recognize your talent. And your generosity, with those prices.”

Marinette bumped her fist lightly against the side of her best friend’s head. “My prices are just fine for where I am as a designer, and you know it.”

“Yeah, okay, I do. But I can’t wait until people start falling over themselves to pay through the nose for your stuff. Which they _will.”_

“And then you get a big cut of my outrageous fortune because of your instrumental role in getting me there?” she guessed playfully.

Alya grinned. “You got it, girl.”

♥

The couch held an Alya sandwich—Nino on one side and Marinette on the other, all three pressed up against each other as if they needed to conserve body heat. They passed a big bowl of microwave popcorn between them while they watched their new TV show with bated breath. the extra space on the cushion, where the fourth housemate normally sat, was layered with blankets and pillows.

Adrien walked in the door from a posing session for some art students, and all three shushed him just for turning the lock. When a commercial break broke the spell, he asked what was on, and he got the overenthusiastic mid-season summary, complete with minor but very relevant details about their favorite side character. Once he’d set his stuff down, he poured himself a glass of water and returned to join them.

He looked at the friendship pile on the couch. He looked at the cushy pillow/blanket throne.

And after a moment to consider his options, he knelt to sprawl himself in the middle of the floor.

Alya snorted.

Nino looked up at the ceiling and held out his hands as he implored, “Why do I put up with this? What did I do to deserve a dumb cat?”

Less melodramatic, Marinette went for the no-nonsense approach. She patted the blankets beside her. “Come sit with us, you dork.”

He rolled over onto his back to stare at her as if to say _nah_ , and with that feline impudence, he looked more like Chat than Adrien.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she sighed.

The self-satisfied little grin. “It is, actually.”

Throwing her hands in the air, she rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the TV. Sometimes even her favorite kitty needed his space. But a few minutes later he wriggled around on the floor so that he could stretch one leg out—just far enough to touch her calf with his toes. When she glanced at him, he was watching the show as if he had no idea what his foot was doing. But when she moved out of reach, he wiggled over some more so that he could once again rest his toes on her leg.

Dumb cat.

She loved him.

♥

“ADRIEN!”

He bowled down the stairs to find Marinette at the kitchen counter with a torn envelope in one hand and an unfolded letter in the other. Eyes wide, she gaped at them, then at him.

“Do you know what this is?” she demanded of him, shaking the letter so that the paper flapped sharply in the air.

This seemed oddly aggressive for her, yet she seemed shocked rather than angry or sad. He hoped nothing bad had happened. “I… don’t. Are you going to tell me?”

“It’s for the big fashion show in the fall. The one my professor said she was going to put my name in for.” Marinette sucked in a huge breath—and then gave a strangled shriek of delight. _“I’m in! They want me in!”_

Adrien’s jaw dropped. _“That’s so awesome!”_ She flew into his arms for a hug, and he picked her up and spun her around, careful not to let her ankles hit the cabinets. “This is _amazing!_ Mari, I’m so excited for you!”

When he set her back down, she placed a hand on each side of his face and pulled him in for a kiss. “Thank you, _mon minou.”_ She beamed. “I can’t believe it! They want some pieces from me!”

Just participating in this show would give her a huge head start in her career—and she didn’t even have her master’s yet. It was the opportunity of a lifetime for someone so young. “I’m going to be behind you all the way,” he promised, holding her by the shoulders to emphasize his point. “I’ll model, I’ll advertise, I’ll write cheers if you want me to. My thing for poetry makes me really good with rhyme schemes.”

She laughed and looped her hands under his arms to grasp his shoulders as well. “That’s okay. I appreciate the enthusiasm, though.”

“You blow me away, my Lady.” He kissed her with every ounce of that enthusiasm, then hugged her tightly. “I love you so much.”

She buried her face in his neck, and through his entire body, he felt the happy sigh she heaved. “That’s all I need.”


End file.
